


Land Without Magic

by Szarka



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Be Careful What You Wish For, How Do I Tag, I spent almost three years writing this shit, M/M, Magic Revealed, Mental Link, POV Arthur, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), The point is that Arthur wishes for magic to disappear, and accidentally almost kills all the sorcerers, frankly I'm just happy it's over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:07:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27917230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Szarka/pseuds/Szarka
Summary: An old man comes into court asking Arthur to make a wish. Arthur thinks that he was sent there by his father who wants to test him, so he asks for magic to completely disappear from Camelot.Two things he didn't count on: One, his wish actually comes true. Two, this hurts people he cares about, and some uncomfortable truths come up as a result.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 344





	Land Without Magic

**Author's Note:**

> This is set sometimes during season 3, so Morgana is already evil but nobody except for Merlin knows it yet. The romantic subplot between Arthur and Gwen (obviously) doesn't exist, but I do ship Gwen and Lancelot in this story, it just really wasn't explicit enough for me to tag.
> 
> Apart from that, the main idea is based on two things I wish the series had explored more: The magic link between Arthur and Merlin, and that thing where they keep talking about how magic is an integral part of the land, and somehow this information seems to come as a surprise for all non-sorcerers. (I really would have liked closer explications about that one.)

On the fifth day every month, the court of Camelot would open its doors to the people, so that they could come in and talk to the royal family. Some only wanted to see them. Others sought council. Others again had small favours to ask which may or may not be granted by Uther. A surprising number of them had travelled far just to see them. Many of them brought small gifts, whatever they could afford to give away to a king to whom they already paid taxes. These were long and tiring days, and Arthur loved every one of them. As Crown Prince, it was his duty to keep in touch with his people at every time, but he never felt their love like he did on these open days.

That particular day, the session had been already going on for some hours, and everyone showed signs of fatigue. Uther was getting more impatient with every person he saw, Morgana to his left had her murder face on, apparently without realizing it, the guards were getting fidgety and kept putting their weight from their one foot to the other, Gaius had had to sit down some time ago, Guinevere behind Morgana kept looking for excuses of small tasks she could perform, while behind Arthur, Merlin's whole face had a look on it that screamed that the person inhabiting it was currently very far away. As to Arthur, he did his best to stay concentrated, but it cost him more and more effort to even remain seated. Normally at this time, he'd be training with his sword. He hated skipping out on his training, it always made him feel restless, with a growing urge to just jump up and jog in circles around the room for a bit.

“One more and we take a break,” announced Uther, much to everybody's relief.

The person who entered was an old man leaning on a crutch. His cape had once been green, but it was difficult to see under the layers of dust and patches, some places mended with more skill than others, so that it looked more like a patchwork of different fabrics than a whole cape. As he bowed to the best of his abilities, his eyes flickered from Morgana to Merlin. Arthur could feel his manservant pull in a sharp breath and straighten up behind him as he apparently came back from whatever daydreams he'd been lost in. The moment was over so fast that Arthur wasn't sure it actually happened.

“My king,” said the man, “My prince. My lady.”

“We grant you an audience,” said Uther. “Speak. What has brought you to Camelot?”

“I have a question I would ask the Crown Prince, if I am permitted.”

“You have my permission,” said Arthur. “What is your question, good man?”

“I want you to tell me this, my prince: If you had but one wish, for yourself, your family or your kingdom, and you knew for a fact that that wish would be granted, what would you wish for?”

Arthur could feel Merlin move behind him, as if he wanted to say something. Before he could, however, and ruin the entire formality of the court (as he'd done multiple times in the past, bringing Uther's wrath on both him and his son), the man looked directly at him. His sharp eyes for a moment became piercing, and Merlin remained thankfully silent. Arthur decided that he was too tired to take conscious notice of this.

Besides, he had other things to think about. The old man's question had caught him by surprise. He'd been asked many strange and unexpected questions over the years, but even so, this one was definitely one of the weirder ones.

If he had one wish...

He could hear Merlin breath in the silence. It was a very regular and controlled breathing, the kind that scream that the breather has to put their entire willpower into staying calm.

There were many things that Arthur wished for. There were also many things he daydreamed of. But those were the wishes of a young man, not those of a Crown Prince. And he was not sitting on that throne as himself. He was there to be an embodiment for the wisdom of the Pendragons. So what would a Crown Prince wish for?

Arthur looked at his father, whose face was unreadable.

Many years ago, back when Arthur had become old enough to take on more responsibility at the court, Uther had arranged on multiple occasions for his son to be “tested”. People working for the King would make him offers where he had two choices, trying to trip him up and make him pick the one unfit for a prince. They then reported back to the King, and if Arthur had done the wrong thing, he would get a rather serious scalding. It had taught him for good to distrust everyone in public, and to think three times before he said something potentially problematic. Uther hadn't sent him any tests in years, but he still kept looking out for them.

And this question, this question had all the feelings of a test. In which case...

In which case, well, there was only one right answer, was there?

“My biggest wish is not something that can be granted,” said Arthur. “I would wish for magic to cease to exist, so that it could never haunt Camelot, not now and not in the future.”

As he said it, he risked a quick glance in the direction of his father. Uther still had his court face on, but Arthur knew him well enough to see that he was satisfied with what he heard.

The man nodded and bowed again.

“My prince.”

With that, he turned around and left.

“That was a good answer, my son,” said Uther. “Magic is pure evil, and even if we fight it with all our might, as long as it exists, it will keep hurting us and the people of Camelot.”

Arthur smiled. He had passed the test.

* * *

“You are awful quiet,” said Arthur that evening when he and Merlin arrived at his chambers and his manservant still hadn't said a word. They were both terribly exhausted from the long day, sure, but that was always the case, and it never stopped Merlin from making long and unasked for comments about all the different people they'd seen that day. Arthur would have done anything to avoid admitting it, but he always looked forward to that. He enjoyed listening to him. Merlin could be surprisingly clever, if he wanted to be, to the point where Arthur half suspected him of playing the fool on purpose the rest of the time. However, every time he actually started to think about it more seriously, Merlin would do something so ridiculous that it convinced him that no, he really was just like that.

“Just thinking,” answered Merlin.

“Thinking, you? Now I'm really worried.”

Merlin shook his head.

“It's nothing. Just that old man from this morning.”

“The one who wanted me to tell him my wish? What about him?”

Merlin avoided his eyes.

“Just... Are you sure you gave the right answer?”

Arthur sighed.

“Merlin, that guy was planted there by my father. It was just another one of his stupid tests. And I did give the right answer. He was happy after all, wasn't he?”

Merlin blinked at him in confusion, as if Arthur had just jumped to a completely different subject.

“Your father?”

Arthur waved his hand and let himself fall on the bed. It was soft and comfortable, and he knew that he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon. Who cared about undressing anyway.

“Yes, you know how he used to set up these situations to see if I would behave correctly?” Merlin gave him a clueless, but slightly shocked look. “Ah yes, how would you know, that was before you came here. Anyway, I know a trap when I see one. This was it.”

“But...” Merlin was standing next to the bed, looking nervous. Arthur half wished he would sit down, next to him. “Is that really your biggest wish, Arthur? Get rid of all magic?”

“Of course not,  _ Mer _ lin. Don't be ridiculous.”

“Then why....?”

“Because it's my  _ father _ 's wish.”

“And you?”

And that was it. One more of those moments when Arthur realized that no matter how close he might feel to Merlin, there were things about being a prince that he just couldn't get. 

Things like responsibilities.

He suddenly felt very tired. Not from the long day, but from how lonely his situation was. If he had a wish, if he could wish for anything without any strings attached, he wanted...

“It doesn't matter what I want, Merlin. What I need to want is the good of this kingdom, nothing else. Magic hurts people. I didn't lie about that, so...” He shrugged and turned on his other side, facing away from Merlin. “Was there something else, or will you let me sleep now?”

* * *

_ That night, Arthur dreamt about Merlin.  _

_ The two of them were standing on a lake, on the water itself. Somewhere in the distance, there was a cliff falling into a bottomless hole. The water of the lake cascaded down in a roaring waterfall, yet the water under their feet was quiet, only throwing small, harmless waves. They were standing very close, in a way that Arthur wouldn't feel comfortable with in the real, waking world, but that felt so incredibly  _ right  _ within the dream. And they were connected, by a golden cord that seemed to come from their chests and was wrapped around their waist, holding them close together.  _

_ It was right. It felt right, on so many levels. Arthur felt calm and at peace like he never did in his waking life. _

_ Then the ground shook. The quiet waves of the lake became wilder, and standing upright a challenge. He and Merlin both instinctively gripped the golden cord connecting them, but it felt fragile under their touch. Arthur watched in shock as it began to crumble. As he raised his eyes towards Merlin, he could see fear and horror in his friend's warm brown eyes. _

_ Then Merlin started to scream in agony, and, realizing the growing pain in his chest, Arthur joined in. They screamed, the golden cord crumbled and the world shook. _

* * *

For once, Arthur woke early. Usually, Merlin not only had to wake him, he also had to persuade him to  _ stay awake _ , which often involved some creative methods no other servant in the history of servants had ever dared to try. Like pulling away Arthur's blanket. Or simply grabbing him and dragging him out of bed. Or beating him with a pillow until he got up. One time, Merlin had thrown a bucket full of water over him. How he'd managed to get the bed dry again before the evening, Arthur would never know.

That particular morning though, Arthur was awake before Merlin even entered his chambers. It was the dream. He'd jolted awake with a pounding heart and his body still aching from the memory of the pain, tense as if he'd been getting ready to fight. 

Arthur forced himself to lay back down, to relax every one of his muscles and to take deep, controlled breaths.

_ It's all right. Just a nightmare. _

Yet try as he might, Arthur couldn't fall asleep again. Every time he closed his eyes, he was back on the lake, Merlin in his arms screaming in agony while the world around them was falling apart to pieces. And there he was, jolting awake again and again.

Well, morning wasn't far away, he could just wait for Merlin awake, and then surprise him with the fact that he was awake. Arthur sunk back into the cushions, and started to plan how to best go on to actually use this unique opportunity to get the most shock out of his manservant. Scaring him somehow would be the best... 

He must have dozed off a little after all, because his next conscious memory was of a loud clatter as Merlin stumbled into the room. He actually managed to put down the tray of whatever he was carrying instead of dropping it, then stumbled on towards the bed. Arthur abandoned all plans and daydreams of jumping Merlin and didn't even try to hide the fact that he was awake. Instead, he sat up in his giant bed and looked attentively at the intruder. His worry grew fast at the sight. Merlin gave the impression that he had trouble keeping himself on two legs. He stumbled to the bed, steadying himself against one of the bedposts. The next step he tried to take ended in Merlin falling queer over the bed, right into Arthur's lap.

“Merlin?”, asked Arthur, confused.

His friend's hand searched for his, grabbing it tight. As he looked up at Arthur, his deep brown eyes were full of fear and pain. Just like they had been in the dream.

“Arthur...”, said he. Then his head rolled to the side and his body went limp as he lost consciousness.

* * *

“Merlin!” 

Arthur shook him, but got no reaction. He scrambled out of the bed, and hurried to the door. The corridor outside was empty. Where were the guards when he needed them? He threw the door shut again and hurried back to his bed, where Merlin was lying in the same position he'd fallen, half on the bed and half hanging off. Arthur pulled him up into a somewhat more comfortable position so that his entire body was on the bed, and pushed one of his cushions under his head. He left his chambers in a hurry, and started to actually run in the corridor, grateful for the fact that he hadn't bothered to undress in the evening and was therefore already wearing his normal clothes.

The chambers of the Court Physician weren't that far away from his own, and Arthur ran fast. He knew that he was there in a matter of minutes, but it felt much, much longer. He was panting slightly when he reached his goal, threw open the door and burst into the room behind it.

“Gaius, I need you to come qui....”

He broke off in the middle of his word as he saw the inside of the room. The bed hadn't been put away, and Guinevere was sitting next to it on a chair, tending to the old man lying on his back, as it would seem, fast asleep.

“He didn't wake up this morning,” she said, answering Arthur's unspoken question. “I tried to make him comfortable, but...” Her voice was hoarse, as if she'd been crying recently. As Arthur approached her further, he could see tear tracks on her cheeks. “I know some basics of healing, but Merlin is his real apprentice. And I haven't seen him today yet. Is he with you?”

“He is in my chambers,” said Arthur. “He's ill or something, he fainted and I couldn't get him to wake up. I came to call Gaius for help.”

Guinevere looked as if she was ready to burst out into tears again. Arthur stood next to her and rubbed her back, hoping to be of some comfort. She smiled gratefully up at him.

“Me too,” said she. “I came here to get him for help, but... Arthur, it's Morgana. She won't wake up. I tried, but... I don't know what is wrong with her. And then Gaius, and now Merlin...” 

She had teared up again, but stubbornly wiped them away. Arthur was grateful for this, he didn't have too much energy left to comfort her. He, too, was upset, but he was the Crown Prince, he had to be strong. Always. One of the reasons why he valued so much the company of Guinevere was that she was even stronger than he. Most of the time, he didn't have to look out for her, she could take care of herself, even when everyone else looked to lean on Arthur for support.

The same thing went for Morgana. She was strong, and fierce, and could easily carry all the problems she might be burdened with, and then some. Arthur could count himself lucky to have a strong ally like Morgana in his future court, and he knew it. She knew it, too, and took a lot of pleasure in reminding him of it on a regular basis.

But the person who mattered the most, the strongest of them all, the one Arthur could lean on if he himself needed emotional support, was Merlin. He was an idiot, most of the time, but when it came up to it, he was brave, and strong, and unwaveringly loyal, and Arthur knew that he could count on him no matter what. Just how much security this knowledge had bought him, he never would have guessed had this cornerstone of his existence not been pulled out from under his feet just now. And he  _ was _ lost. Scared, and lost, and in pain. Ever since he'd woken up, Arthur'd felt a very vague ache in his chest, close to where his heart was. It felt like loss, like sorrow, but stronger. And it had definitely got worse when Merlin collapsed, and not better since.

“I'd better go and check on her,” said he. “Does my father know?”

Guinevere nodded.

“He is with her now. He was very upset when I left them.”

“I don't want him to learn about Merlin,” said Arthur. He didn't know himself why exactly, but the idea that someone would learn about the young man lying on his bed and that he'd be forced to order the guards to take him away, bring him back to his own, small, cold room... Every fibre of his being protested the mare thought. “Could you check in on him, see what you can do? And keep it confidential at all cost. Not a word to anyone.”

“Sure. But wouldn't it be better to bring him back....”

“No,” said Arthur in a tone that didn't tolerate discussion. “He stays where he is. Make sure that he's comfortable.”

They left the room together, but parted ways soon after, Arthur heading to Morgana's chambers and Guinevere to Arthur's. Once more, he was really grateful for being fully dressed, even though his clothes were somewhat crumbled from him sleeping in them.

* * *

Morgana's room was semi-dark and completely silent. Uther was sitting next to his ward's bed, deep in thoughts, but looked up when Arthur entered.

“I came as soon as I learned,” said Arthur and approached the bed. “How is she?”

“It looks like a normal sleep,” answered Uther, “but it is impossible to wake her up. Have you heard about Gaius?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “Do we know what caused it?”

He hadn't finished his question when he already knew what his father would answer. Uther's face turned dark with hatred.

“Magic.”

Arthur forced himself not to sigh and to keep a straight face. Magic was a dangerous, evil force that had to be taken seriously, yes. His father however.... Well, he had a certain habit of exaggerating it to the point of simple paranoia. The fact that Morgana was affected didn’t actually help. Uther tended to be a bit overprotective of his adopted daughter, something Morgana never ceased to be annoyed by. Although she’d definitely learned how to turn this weakness to her own advantage, if she wanted to. She mostly used this talent to make Arthur’s life just a little bit more difficult. 

“Do we have any evidence, or...?”

“It is clear, isn't it?!”

“Father, Morgana has had sleeping problems all her life, and Gaius is an old man. Maybe there is a perfectly natural explanation?”

And Merlin could have been contaminated by Gaius, whatever his illness was. There was no reason to immediately think of the worst.

Uther’s face turned a bit darker, the look he always had when Arthur made some horrible mistake that needed serious scolding.

“I know magic when I see it, Arthur. This is serious. You have to find the sorcerer who did this. When they burn, their spell will be broken and Morgana free.”

There was no point in arguing with Uther when he was in this mood, and Arthur didn't even try.

“I'll alert all the guards at once. The council meeting starts soon, I'll see you there.”

“I'm not going.”

“Why not?”

“Morgana needs me.”

_And Merlin me_ , was Arthur's irrational first thought. He had no idea where it came from and it didn't make any sense. Merlin was unconscious. It didn't matter to him whether somebody was sitting next to his bed or not, and Arthur had a long list of better things to do than hold guard over a sick servant. No matter how much he liked said servant. No matter how much he wanted to... As for Morgana, she was unconscious, too, and she didn't need Uther, either, but knowing how much his father loved his ward, it would be no use trying to move him from her bedside until she fully recovered.

“What about the council?”

“You can take the lead. You know enough.”

Arthur froze at the implication of this.

“You are trusting me with leading the entire kingdom?”

Uther smiled at him, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

“The earlier you start, the better. And at least you can talk to me. I don't want you to have to wait until after my death when I won't be able to advise you when you need it.”

“Thank you, father,” said Arthur, shaken by the responsibility the King had just laid on his shoulders. “I will not disappoint you.”

“No,” said Uther, this time without a smile, and his most dangerous look in his eyes. “You won't.'

* * *

“How is he?”, asked Arthur before he was even completely through the door. He hadn't run this time, as he didn't want to attract unnecessary attention, but he'd walked very fast.

Guinevere had made Merlin comfortable, just as Arthur had asked her to. He was now laying on his back, turned the right way with his head on the pillows and his feet on the foot end, tucked in. Had Arthur not known better, he'd thought that he was sleeping.

He wasn’t. He was unnaturally pale, and very, very still. Arthur had spent enough nights out in the open with his servant, he knew what he looked like in his sleep. Merlin was  _ alive _ , even in his dreams. He moved often, or at least settled in some strange and twisted position. Had this been a normal sleep, Merlin wouldn’t have just lain there on his back, breathing shallowly. He’d probably would have moved to the middle of the bed and spread out, taking up all the space. Or, by turning and moving, he unconsciously might have pulled all the sheets and ended up hopelessly tangled in them. Arthur often thought how that man must be an absolute nightmare to share a bed with.

He balled his hands to a fist. He wasn’t exactly sure what the emotion he felt was, but it was close enough to anger. A helpless, overly protective anger.

Guinevere stopped tidying the room, which consisted mostly of her moving certain objects from a place where they didn't disturb anybody to a different place where they  _ also _ didn't disturb anybody, but presumably looked a little better than they had on their place before, and she stood next to Arthur.

“It's the same as with Morgana and Gaius”, she said quietly, as if she didn't want to disturb the sleeper. “The only difference is that they didn't wake up this morning, and Merlin did.”

Following an impulse, Arthur knelt down and softly ran his fingers through Merlin's hair, until he was cupping his face. The young man let out a sigh, and Arthur himself felt as if the weight that had been pushing down on his heart all day had become a little less heavy. He kept his hand on his servant’s cheek.

“.... and that Morgana and Gaius never showed any reaction at all?”, finished Guinevere in a somewhat surprised tone. “Do that again?”

Arthur repeated his motion, but this time, nothing happened. Frustrated, he blew out the breath of air he'd been holding and got to his feet. The moment he let go of Merlin, the weight was back, and he decided that it being gone had been nothing but an illusion.

“I need to prepare for the council meeting,” he said.

“And I need to go back to my duties,” said Guinevere. They stood there for a moment, awkwardly avoiding to look at each other, then both said “Right” at the same time.

“Right,” repeated Arthur, and they both went their own way.

* * *

The morning was spent with the council doing very mundane and routine things. Checking that everything worked as it was supposed to, looking at their resources and whether they were distributed the most efficiently, nothing Arthur hadn't done multiple times before. The mood was dampened by the absence of the King, and the unspoken knowledge where this absence came from. They didn't sway a moment from the official topic, there wasn't even as much discussion as usual. 

Arthur used this to actually get work done, but he didn't take any pleasure in it. He, too, was worried about the man who had been a mentor figure to him all his life, even more about the woman he considered his sister, and, paradoxically, most about his servant. Merlin’s absence from his side was almost tangible in the void he’d left. 

Something about him being affected really irked Arthur, he just couldn't put a finger on  _ what _ . The whole situation was actually weird enough to give some reason to consider Uther's standard “it was magic”-theory, but... Why? Why would a sorcerer do that? Attacking the King's ward, sure. Taking out the Court Physician, logical. But why the Crown Price's manservant? Who could possibly profit from hurting Merlin, who was probably the most harmless person at the entire court? Unless it was to hurt Arthur, which... It still didn't add up. Nobody knew just how much he cared about that man, not even Merlin himself. Arthur had made sure of  _ that _ .

He used the lunch break to check in on Morgana and his father. Her situation was unchanged, and he still refused to move from her side. Arthur arranged for some food and drink to be sent up to him, and continued his tour with Gaius. Same there, the old man hadn't moved a finger since he'd last seen him. Finally, he could go back to his chambers. But Merlin too was asleep, and this time, he didn't react to Arthur's presence at all. Not even when he touched him.

It was during the afternoon that the situation turned from bad to worse. 

“A man here to see you, sire,” announced the guard currently on duty in front of the throne room. “From one of the nearby villages. He says that it's urgent.”

“Send him in,” answered Arthur, and put away the document he'd been reading. The man was middle-aged, dusty from the road and wearing what clearly wasn't his best clothes, as if he hadn't taken the time to change before leaving for Camelot.

“It's two of our women,” said he once he'd hastily introduced himself. “Fanny and Ann. They didn't wake up this morning.”

A moment of shocked silence followed his words. Arthur felt his breath catch, but he had enough experience in not letting his feelings show. 

He leaned forwards in his chair. “Tell me everything.”

Fanny and Ann had never married, but they lived together and consumed so little, they always had something they could share with their fellow villagers, especially the families who had children. An egg here, some milk there, a freshly woven linen sheet every once a year. The previous evening, they had promised Mother Linda from next door to give her some of the noodles they'd made two days ago. She had five children, all growing and hungry, and therefore never turned down food when somebody offered it to her. So in the morning, a little after breakfast, when all the men were already out working in the fields, she'd taken her basket and went next door, bringing some butter in exchange. Her neighbours didn't open the door. Mother Linda knocked for a while, but since there was no response and the door was open, she simply entered. Fanny and Ann were both still in bed, fast asleep. Mother Linda tried to wake them, but they didn't stir. So she went and got help from some of the other villagers, all of whom had been unable to wake up the two women. Which is why they sent one of them to Camelot, to ask the King to send his physician to help.

Arthur bought himself some time by ordering the servants to give the man some food and drink, but before he could even begin to think about what to do, three more people arrived, all from different nearby villages. Their stories were all very similar.

There was a fourteen-year-old boy who'd spent the night outside on the fields, guarding the cows. His older brother went in the morning to take his place, but he couldn't wake him up. People had to carry the poor boy back to his house, and he slept all the way.

An old couple, grandparents to half the village, appeared to be asleep, but nobody could wake them. When villagers went from house to house to investigate if anyone knew anything, they found two of their children and three of their grandchildren in the same state.

A young girl, set to be married the next month, had had a long discussion with her parents the previous evening, and they'd ended up disagreeing on some details regarding her dowry. They all went to sleep angry. The parents got over their anger during the night, but the girl didn't wake up again.

The spokesmen were all terribly worried. These were people from their own community. Beloved people. Friends, family and neighbours, and they didn't know what had befallen them. They didn't know whether they would ever wake up again.

Arthur didn't know, either. He suspended the court early that day, checked in on his father and the three sleepers, had a short talk with Guinevere where he tried to encourage her despite lacking any hope himself and had the strong impression that she was doing the same for him, then spent the rest of the afternoon on the training grounds until long after the sun had set. It didn't make him feel any better.

* * *

As Merlin was occupying his bed, Arthur slept on the ground in front of the fireplace. That was actually fun, it reminded him of his childhood, when he and Morgana had made nests out of blankets and pillows near the fire in winter, and sat there days on end playing their games. However, Arthur wasn't in the right mental state to enjoy anything fun, so he only filed it away in the back of his mind under “Should Probably Do It Again Some Time As A Joke”.

It took him way too long to fall asleep, and when he did, his dream was just as restless as the night before.

_ He was back on the lake, with Merlin in his arms, both of them struggling to hold on to each other. Some invisible force was pulling them apart, and Arthur knew that when it would succeed, it would tear his heart out. He gripped Merlin tighter, pulled him even closer, but he could feel his friend's grip on him weaken. _

_ “Hold on!”, he said into his ear. “I've got you, Merlin. I'm not going to let you go.” _

_ Panicked, but weakening breathing was his only answer. _

  
  


Arthur woke with a pounding heart and breathing heavily. He sat up, and looked over at Merlin. From his place on the floor, he could see his outline on the bed, and once he stopped panting, he could hear his regular breathing.

Arthur let himself fall back and relax a little. But it was only a little. He already knew instinctively that he would not fall asleep again, so he spent the rest of the night lying there, staring into nothing and listening to Merlin breathing.

* * *

The day brought more people from now somewhat further away villages calling for help about close ones not waking up. Arthur tried to reassure them that they were doing their best to investigate the origins of this mysterious epidemic, but couldn't offer anything concrete. His father was of no use, either, as his only advice was to find the sorcerer responsible for this and bring them to justice. Arthur told the guards to put more effort into their search than they had the previous day, but was secretly convinced that it wouldn't bring anything.

Merlin was no longer the only sleeping person Arthur couldn't find any explanation for: The reported villagers were all incredibly normal, and didn't seem to have any connection with each other.

A blacksmith.

A disabled man who had specialized in healing herbs since he couldn't work properly on the fields.

Five children, all of different ages and coming from different villages.

A widowed grandmother.

And the one who haunted Arthur the most: A young mother, and her newborn child.

Morgana slept peacefully and Gaius didn't stir. Arthur sat down on the edge of his bed next to Merlin, took his hand and watched him for as long as his lunch break allowed. Oh what he would have given to be able to talk to him. Merlin somehow always knew the right thing to say to make him feel better.

But the lunch break couldn't last forever, and the afternoon brought with it the next hit of disaster.

* * *

Camelot's forester was a lean man with skin dark either from birth or the sun (Arthur guessed both), green clothes and mild antisocial tendencies. He walked the forests, looking out for poachers and other problems, knew them better than anyone else, and only reported back to the court once in every blue moon.

He marched into the throne room not waiting for official permission to do so, bowed only very slightly and announced loudly and without any introductions:

“Something is wrong with the woods.”

“What do you mean, forester?”, asked Arthur, secretly wishing to be upstairs in his chambers, asleep with Merlin.

Not  _ like _ Merlin,  _ with _ Merlin. He quickly pushed the thought aside.

“I'm not quite sure,” replied the forester. “Wrong. Seriously wrong.”

“Could you please elaborate?”

“They feel wrong.”

“The forests feel wrong,” repeated Arthur slowly.

“Yes, that's what I just said.”

“Wrong how?”

“Wrong.”

“Yes, forester, I understand that. But in what way?”

The forester shrugged.

“Just wrong,” repeated he once more.

Arthur gathered as much of his patience as was available. It was a very limited quantity with his biggest emotional anchor at the moment unconscious in his bed. There was no arguing with the forester, he knew that from experience. Best to play along then, and hope that he'd be finished soon. 

At least he didn't come to bring news from sick people in the villages.

“When did you first notice something being  _ wrong _ ?”

“Yesterday morning. Something was...” He seemed to put in some actual effort this time to find a fitting word, but only could repeat himself, “wrong. You know how you go into the forest and everything feels so alive?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. It was a thing that tended to happen if you were surrounded on all sides by life, which in the forest per definition was the case.

“I didn't feel it,” said the forester. “The sun was shining and birds were singing and everything, but it just didn't seem alive as it usually does. And it hasn't since. And that is not all.” He looked around, as if he wanted to make sure he was completely safe. “There's stuff missing.”

“As in illegal woodcutters?”, asked Arthur.

“As in, multiple caves aren't where they're supposed to be. I spent all day yesterday and today looking, the caves are not the only ones. Landmarks are gone. There is an entire hill I couldn't find.”

Shocked silence fell on the room.

“Parts of the forest are gone,” repeated Arthur, just to make sure he'd understood correctly.

“I guess so?”, shrugged the forester.

“And the rest of the forest feels dead?”

“No, not dead. Dead means you've been alive. More like... Not alive.”

Merlin and Gaius would already know what was wrong. Merlin would tell him what to do about it. Arthur would not listen, and Merlin would turn out to be right, like he always was.

“Anything else you've observed, forester?”

The forester shrugged.

“The land I passed on my way here is wrong, too? I guess? I'm not often....”

Arthur rubbed his face. Merlin... Stay focused.

“I'll send one of my knights with you. Explain to him best as you can what is wrong and everything that you know about that part of the forest. Report back here the day after tomorrow. You may leave.”

* * *

That evening, Arthur made himself a nest again in front of the fireplace. Only that it wasn't enough. He tried to sleep, but couldn't close an eye over the irking feeling that  _ Merlin was too far away _ . He tried to tell himself that this was nonsense, he was in the bed just a few steps from the fireplace, but it didn't work, and the distance between them almost hurt physically. 

In the end, Arthur gave up and went to lie on the bed instead. It was a big bed, and Merlin, who was lying in it's left half rather than the middle, only occupied half of it. And, Arthur tried to convince himself, he was the Crown Prince. He couldn't let a servant dictate to him what to do or where to sleep. He wanted to sleep in his bed, so sleep in his bed he would, Merlin or no Merlin.

He lay down on the right half, as close to the edge and as far from Merlin as possible. Still, they were close enough for him to feel the warmth of his body, and it was soothing enough for him to fall asleep almost immediately.

  
  


_ He dreamt of that lake again, the continuation of a plot Arthur began to suspect of being a continuous story spread over multiple nights. _

_ He was still holding on to Merlin with all his might, but his friend was mostly limp in his arms, his head on Arthur's shoulder, his hands only gripping him loosely. Arthur could feel something pulling them apart, pulling Merlin closer to the edge of the lake, where the water cascaded into the dark.  _

_ As he looked up for a moment, he could see other forms, human, but too vague for him to recognize, all of them screaming, struggling to resist the pull, the same pull that was affecting Merlin, dragging them all towards the edge. _

  
  


When Arthur woke from his nightmare, he found that he no longer was lying on his back, but curled up on his side, his head on Merlin's chest, just over his heart, and his arms slung tightly around his middle. Arthur forced himself to pull away, but letting go required an awful lot of willpower, even from someone with the self-discipline of a trained knight.

  
  


_ He fell asleep again, and was back in the exact same dream as before. Nothing had changed, he was still desperately trying to hold on to Merlin. The other figures however didn't have any help. Slowly, but surely they were dragged away towards the edge. His Merlin was supposed to share that fate, and Arthur knew it just as he knew that he couldn't protect him forever. _

  
  


He woke up again clinging to Merlin, and forced himself to peel himself away from him once more.

  
  


_ Sleep again, dream again. Same scenario, same horror linked with it. _

  
  


Wake again, discover that he was clinging in a very improper way to his manservant, force himself to let go. It was getting harder each time.

Arthur spent the whole night stuck in this vicious circle of dream and wake. By the time it dawned, he couldn't tell any more how often he'd been through the same pattern.

* * *

The third day of whatever was going on in the kingdom was bad. Really bad. If Arthur had had difficulties keeping away from Merlin during the night, then it was even worse now he had to get up in the morning, and  _ leave the room he was in. _ It hurt, in a way that wasn't physical, but more of a constant dull ache in Arthur's chest that got worse and worse the further he got from his chambers.

“Everyone is really quiet,” said Guinevere when they managed to find a moment to talk to each other. “Not in a good way. As if... I don't know. As if we were all ill. Or in mourning.”

“How are you doing?”, asked Arthur.

Guinevere leaned against the wall. 

“Tired. And you?”

Arthur looked around to make sure no-one was within hearing distance, stepped closer to his friend and whispered, just to be sure. This was not something he could let anyone know about. Not even his father. The poor man had enough to worry about.

“Not good. Something is wrong, Guinevere. I feel weak. I have since the first day, but didn't take it seriously. It is getting worse. I wonder if I'm not affected, too.”

Guinevere looked sceptical.

“I don't know, Arthur. The ones we know of all had the same symptoms at the same time. It is of course possible that there is going to be a second wave... Or maybe you just worked too much?”

“There is more.”

He looked around again, stepped even closer, and whispered almost directly into her ear.

“I feel better when I'm near Merlin.”

Guinevere looked up at him in surprise.

“The further I'm from him, the worse it is. I just...” He looked around again. “I just want to be with him. I want to  _ touch _ him.  _ I need to protect him _ , and I don't even know, from  _ what _ , and... What is  _ wrong _ with me?”

Guinevere's brown eyes turned warm and strangely knowing. She put a comforting hand on Arthur's arm, something she usually didn't do. Servants didn't just touch princes. Except for Merlin. Merlin had never cared about the rules.

“I know, Arthur.”

Arthur blinked.

“You do?”

“He will be all right. We'll get through this, you'll see.”

“What should I do?”

She sighed.

“There is not much anyone can do at this moment. Just make sure you look after yourself, the court physician you sent for in the neighbouring kingdom will be here any day now, and you can talk to Merlin when he wakes up. You'll feel better once you two sort this out.”

Sort what out?

“How can you be so sure?”

Guinevere winked at him with a little smile.

“I've known you both for long enough, Arthur. It's very obvious. Just trust me on this. It will work out.”

Arthur still didn't quite understand where her certainty came from, but it was nice to see that somebody believed everything would be all right. And he  _ did _ trust her. She was one of the five people he trusted the most. If she told him to take her word for something, he would, and it actually made him feel a little better.

They stayed there for a moment longer, until they no longer could excuse themselves for not working, and they both went their separate ways.

Arthur took Guinevere's advice to look after himself in that he announced that he wouldn't hold any court that day and focused on his paperwork instead. He retired to his chambers, and the pain in his chest lessened at the sight of Merlin. Arthur tried to work at his desk, like he always did, but eventually ended up migrating onto the floor next to the bed. He actually got some work done.

* * *

Guinevere looked nervous when she came into the room to check on both of them in the early afternoon. 

“Arthur, when have you last visited Morgana and Gaius?”, asked she.

“This morning. Did something happen?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean no. I mean...”

“Guinevere?”

“Lancelot is back,” she said very quickly. “He is hiding in Merlin's room.”

Lancelot. The commoner who had posed as a nobleman in order to be accepted as knight. One of the best fighters Arthur had ever seen in his life, but also…  _ Definitely _ the one he had the most complicated relationship with, emotionally speaking. Part of him really liked the man, while the other wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face. Maybe he was just still angry about the deception.

“Well tell him to get away!”, said Arthur somewhat louder than necessary. They both flinched. “He is banished from Camelot under the threat of death should he return,” continued he in a more quiet voice. “Or has he forgotten that? My father has retired somewhat, but he is not blind! He has eyes and ears everywhere,  _ he will catch him _ . He must leave at once!”

Guinevere fidgeted for a moment with her skirt, balling her fists in the yellow tissue. She then forced her hands to relax, still avoiding looking at Arthur.

“He said that he might know what keeps the sleepers from waking up.”

Arthur jumped to his feet, but Guinevere held him back.

“Arthur, from the way he said it, it isn't good. He told me to tell you to finish all important tasks first. Visit Morgana, then come to Gaius's chambers. We will be there.”

She left, and Arthur gathered all of his papers from the floor. As he carried them back to his desk, his eyes fell on his dagger. It was a high quality weapon, sharp and well-balanced, and small enough so that he could hide it under his clothes. He picked it up and took it with him, just in case.

He checked in on the head of the servants and the head of the guards, to make sure everything was in order. It was, and no, they still hadn't found any sorcerers. 

“Well, keep looking, just in case,” said Arthur with a wink. “If you happen to meet someone wearing a pointy hat and cooking something green and bubbly in a cauldron, let me know, will you?”

“Yes, sire!”, grinned the guard. 

“Of course we are continuing the search,” told Arthur his father a few minutes later, when he joined him in Morgana's chambers. Nothing had changed there since the first day, either. She was still lying on her back, eyes closed and skin even paler than usual, breathing calmly and shallowly.

“The sorcerer is close,” said Uther. “I can feel it.”

“If they are anywhere in Camelot, the guards will find them,” assured him Arthur.

“And what if that isn't enough? We need to search the grounds and the woods surrounding the castle, too!”

“I'll see what I can do,” assured him Arthur, knowing full well that the answer to that question was that they unfortunately didn't have enough guards, and the ones they did have had better things to do than searching for imaginary sorcerers.

They talked politics for a while. Arthur recounted everything he'd been doing, and assured the King that all was going smoothly. His father told him that he expected no less from him.

“Let me know when she wakes,” asked Arthur as he left, just as he'd done in the previous two days.

“I will,” answered Uther, just as he'd done in the previous two days.

Gaius too was sleeping unchanged, just as were so many other people all around the kingdom, but Arthur didn't pay too much attention to him

“Where is he?”, asked he Guinevere as soon as he'd closed the heavy wooden door behind him.

“In here, my Lord.” Lancelot emerged from Merlin's empty room. He looked tired and was dressed as a commoner and would have looked ordinary enough to blend in with the servants, had it not been for the sword he was still carrying. He greeted Arthur formally by kneeling and kissing his hand, and Arthur decided that he still didn't like him. But he was brave and loyal and a friend to Guinevere, and even more importantly, Merlin, and that was more than enough of a reason to put away any personal dislikes.

“Rise, Sir Lancelot,” said he, addressing him as he would have any other knights. “And tell me what the Hell you are doing here,” added he in a much less formal and much more irritated tone. “You are going to get yourself killed!”

“This is important,” shook Lancelot his head. “Where is Merlin?”

Arthur felt a surge of that same protective (possessive, whispered something inside him) impulse in his chest that had driven him to keep Merlin's condition a secret. It had become a very common reaction to anything Merlin related that could be seen even as very slightly threatening. Arthur still didn't understand what it was and where it came from, or why it made itself known now. He'd never been jealous of Merlin's friends before, and Lancelot was not dangerous.

“In my chambers. Why?”

“Asleep?”

“Yes. Didn't Guinevere tell you?”

“She did, I just hoped it wasn't true. How are you feeling?”

Arthur crossed his arms. Lancelot ran his hand over his face.

“I need to see him.”

“I said that he is asleep.”

“Arthur,” said Guinevere.

Arthur sighed.

“All right, follow me. Leave your sword.”

Lancelot undid his sword belt and threw his weapon on the bed next to a bag of clothes. The three of them hurried through the corridors and reached Arthur's chambers without anyone taking notice of them.

“Oh no,” muttered Lancelot when he saw Merlin, and hurried towards the bed.

Before Arthur quite realized what he was doing, he had run past him, planting himself between the errant knight and the unconscious man, and drawn his dagger he was now pointing at Lancelot.

_ “Stop.” _

Lancelot froze. So did Guinevere. And Arthur, all three of them processing what he had just done. It didn't make any sense. No sense at all. Lancelot was a friend, and he did trust him. But the idea to let him anywhere near Merlin,  _ his _ Merlin...

“Stay away from him.”

“Arthur, what are you doing?”, asked Guinevere with a voice thin from scare.

“I don't know,” said Arthur truthfully. His voice was quivering.

Lancelot tried very carefully to move a little, and Arthur lashed out with the dagger, driving him back.

“I said,  _ stay away! _ ”

Lancelot raised both his hands where Arthur could see them.

“I won't hurt him,” he said gently, as if he was trying to sooth a small child, or a spooked animal.

“I know.”

“I am trying to help.”

“I know.”

“I promise I won't touch him?”

Arthur considered this. He hesitated, then he stepped aside, but didn't put away the dagger, and stayed very close to Lancelot to remind him that... He didn't know. Nothing about his actions made any sense, even to him. He just couldn't help himself.

Lancelot knelt next to the bed and examined the man lying on it without touching him, as he promised. Eventually, he looked up over his shoulder back to Arthur.

“May I feel his pulse?”

Arthur nodded, and forced himself to stay still as Lancelot pressed two fingers on Merlin's neck and counted the beat of his heart.

“He is getting weaker, isn't he?”

Guinevere nodded.

Lancelot finally retreated from the bed, much to Arthur's relief. He put away the dagger and sat down next to Merlin. He noticed only now that his hands were shaking.

“I apologize.” Even his voice sounded strange in his ears. “I don't know what came over me.”

“It's all right,” said Lancelot. He too was very pale. “I don't think it was your fault.”

“Do you know what he has?”

Lancelot swallowed hard. 

“I have a theory, yes.”

_ “And?!” _

Lancelot shook his head, a pained expression on his face.

“I am not at liberty to tell.”

Arthur had to put in all of his willpower to keep himself from jumping up, to attack him with his dagger and carve the truth out of him. He forced himself to close his eyes and take deep breaths. When he opened them again, he felt calmer, but he was shaking all over his body.

“And do you know what is wrong with  _ me _ ?”, he asked.

“I am not at liberty to tell, either.”

Arthur started at him, but luckily Guinevere saved them all from another outburst by speaking first.

“Lancelot, please.”

The knight shook his head.

“I can't. It is not my secret, and I gave my word.”

“Then tell us this,” said Guinevere. “Is Camelot in danger?”

Lancelot nodded.

“Are the people in Camelot in danger?”

He nodded again. “More than you know.”

“What about the person you've given your word to?”

“Probably more than anyone.”

“Would it help them if you broke your word and told us the secret?”

Lancelot hesitated. He looked from Guinevere, to Arthur, to even Merlin, back to Arthur, to Guinevere, then finally averted his eyes. He swallowed hard.

“If I am right in my suspicion... Yes, it might.”

“Then isn't it your duty as a knight to tell us and help everybody?”

More hesitation. Finally, Lancelot muttered something that sounded a lot like  _ “God forgive me” _ , then straightened out with the determined look of someone who is about to face off an entire army on their own.

“I was on the far border when I noticed that something was wrong in Camelot,” began he. “I wanted to speak with Merlin, to find out of it really was what I think it was.” He took a deep breath, and finally said it. “I think it's magic.”

* * *

The words were heavy in the air.

“We suspected that,” said Arthur. “Do you know who the sorcerer is?”

Lancelot looked extremely uncomfortable and it was quite clear that although he'd decided to share his information, Arthur would have to pull every word out of him separately.

“I don't think there is one.”

“But you just said it was magic,” pointed out Guinevere.

“It is. Or not. I mean...” The knight looked at Merlin with an expression as if he was hoping for some help. “How do I best explain this? You must know that it is not my intention to speak ill of the King, but... I've seen magic. I doubt anyone in Camelot who is not a sorcerer themselves actually understands what it is. There are probably also many sorcerers who don't because of all the misinformation...” He shook his head, trying to get himself back on track. “Magic isn't evil. Or good. It just... Is? Like... Like water in a moor. It is part of the land. The sorcerers I've met are just... People. Most are good, some are bad, some are...” His eyes drifted back to the bed. “Some are the most noble people I've met. It's...”

“Get to the point, Lancelot,” said Arthur. He was tense, and his voice hard, but he could be excused. This was a dangerous discussion, dangerous thoughts, even in private chambers between friends. Implying that magic might be anything but pure evil was an act of treason in itself. Lancelot already broke multiple laws by simply being there, but this...

“Magic is being drained from Camelot,” said the knight, looking Arthur straight in the eye. “That is what it looks like, my Lord.”

“Explain,” said Arthur. Lancelot thought for a moment.

“Like water from a moor,” he said finally. “Imagine a moor that dries up, and the plants and animals cannot live in it any more.”

Arthur thought back to the forester.

“Could such a thing change forests?”

Lancelot nodded. “It already has. I passed through most of the kingdom on my way here, and it all feels... Dead. The sun shining through the leaves, the singing of the streams, the wind sweeping through the corn. They all are… Not alive. And places of pure magic have simply vanished. I actually got here half a day earlier than expected because I had less road to travel.”

So the forester had been right after all. But that still left the big question.

“What about the people?”

“They feel tired and lack joy in whatever they do,” said Lancelot. “But that is not the question you had been trying to ask.”

“No, it isn't.”

“The people who had a connection to the magic of the land are withering away. As far as I know, none of them had woken up in the last three days.”

“So what you are really trying to say is...”

“... All the sleepers are sorcerers, yes.”

There was no other way of putting this, Arthur's brain froze. It just... stopped working. The words didn't make any sense. They reached him, he understood them, but their actual meaning just didn't get through to him. He just sat there and stared at Lancelot with a blank expression.

“But... Morgana and Merlin...”, began Guinevere.

Lancelot nodded.

“They too.”

“But surely not!”

“Based on what I know, yes.”

Arthur forced himself to blink. When that worked, to talk.

“Not  _ Merlin _ !”

Silence.

“I mean, this is ridiculous!”

“Remember what I said about this not being my secret, sire?” Arthur nodded. Lancelot looked at the bed. “It's his.”

“No it isn't,” protested Arthur with the certainty of a man who still didn't quite register what exactly they were talking about. Not fully. Not its actual significance. “Morgana... Morgana is actually clever enough to hide something from me, but not  _ Merlin _ !”

“I do not know about the Lady Morgana,” said Lancelot, “but I do know for a fact that Merlin has magic. I've seen him use it before. That is why I came here to see him when I noticed what is happening. He is the best sorcerer I know.”

“He is  _ not _ a sorcerer!”, exclaimed Arthur. “And neither is Morgana! How  _ dare _ you even accuse them of such things? I should...”

“Arthur, wait,” said Guinevere. “Didn't you say that this had something to do with Arthur?”, asked she Lancelot.

The knight looked between her and Arthur. Arthur raised his eyebrow.

“Go on, then. How do you use your magic theory to explain why I attacked you?”

“Because you thought I threatened Merlin,” answered he.

“No I didn't! I  _ asked _ you to come here, remember?”

“I don't think it was conscious. More like...” He paused, searching for words. “There is a connection between you, my Lord. A magical connection. When the magic disappeared, it must have been either broken or at least put under a lot of stress. You can feel it, but you don't know what it is. Are you in pain, my Lord?”

Arthur closed his eyes. He had no idea what the knight was talking about, and didn't really want to know, either. He just longed to lay down, next to Merlin, and pull him in his arms. Feel him breathe, hold him close,  _ protect him _ .... Ah. Maybe he  _ did _ see where Lancelot was coming from.

“Yes,” he said softly. “It is...”

“As if someone had ripped a part of you out of your chest?” Arthur remained silent. “And now that part is just lying there, completely unable to defend itself. You don't trust anyone enough to let them near it, so you try to take care of it yourself.”

“I trust Guinevere,” said Arthur without quite realizing what he was admitting.

“And everyone else you are ready to fight off with a dagger,” said Lancelot.

Arthur shook his head. “This is still wrong.”

“Do you have any proof?”, asked Guinevere. 

“I do.”

* * *

They made their way back to Merlin's room just as easily as they had in the other direction. Lancelot pushed aside the night table and took out a loose part of the floor to reveal a bigger cavity under it. Several objects were in the cavity, all of them wrapped in cloth. Lancelot took them all out and carefully placed them on the bed. Then he unwrapped them, and Arthur wished for the ground to swallow him.

The first object was a long staff with a blue glass ball at the end, the insides of which were swirling like mist and glowing faintly.

The second was a small wooden dragon.

The third Arthur recognized as the kind of collection of loose papers and parchments people write on before they are bound together as a book.

And the fourth... The fourth was a heavy, leather-clad band that, when Guinevere carefully opened it, revealed pages after pages after pages of descriptions of magic spells and recipes for potions.

A book of magic.

People had been burned for less.

“Are we sure these do not belong to Gaius?”, asked Arthur in a last desperate attempt of hope. “I mean, he  _ does _ have magic, but he doesn't use it. He could have hidden away these things years, decades ago. Long before Merlin came here. He might not even know they're here....”

“The notes are Merlin's handwriting,” pointed out Guinevere. “Look.”

Arthur looked at the loose pages covered in carefully written letters. That was, without any doubt, Merlin's writing, he'd recognize those A's anywhere. Merlin's writing of what appeared to be notes about dragons.

Arthur just stared at the damning evidence for what felt like an eternity, unable to really form any coherent thoughts. Part of him expected something terrible to happen, and was frozen in fear. He didn't quite know  _ what _ he expected. His father to burst in to punish them for getting associated with magic? Guards to break down the door to his chambers and drag Merlin away to the dungeons? Maybe something less dramatic, like the whole castle crumble and bury them all underneath tons and tons of stone?

But whatever disaster he dreaded didn't happen, and they were still standing over a collection of forbidden magical objects that they had found in the room of their friend, and Arthur still was the Crown Prince, and Guinevere and Lancelot were still looking at him for guidance.

Well...

“I'm taking these.” Arthur collected the book and the notes with determined movements. “I'll go back to my chambers and look through them, see if I can find anything useful. I need you two, after you've hidden the rest again, to find out if there are any more documents about...” He swallowed, but finished the sentence with determination “...magic. Look through Gaius' library. If he is hiding any books, they will be there between all the others. No-one ever takes the effort to look through all of Gaius's library.”

It was only when he'd safely locked himself into his chambers that Arthur allowed the panic to rise again. He put the documents on his bed next to Merlin, then simply sunk to the floor where he stood, leaning his back against one of the bedposts. He pulled up his knees, hugged them tightly to his chest and buried his face against them. He was shaking, and it took him a ridiculously long time before he could stop and leave his position on the floor.

* * *

_ One step, then another one. Small steps, but once taken, they couldn't be undone. Each of them bringing them closer to the edge. Merlin's feet were making the steps on their own, one stumbling motion after the next, and Arthur had to fight to keep him back. Around them, the people-shaped silhouettes weren't screaming any more. They were silent, and walking mechanically towards the cliff. _

* * *

It was still hours before dawn. Arthur sighed, gave up on sleeping for good and migrated back to the floor with Merlin's books. He started with the actual magic book, because it looked less painful than notes written by his friend. He didn't read everything, only scanned most pages to see if they contained something relevant to their situation. A cure. He needed a way to reverse everything, and fast.

The book contained a large variety of topics. Magic creatures, spells, potions, correct use of herbs and of energies present in nature... It was really only an introduction, and it felt like it. Like something one would give to a student, so they can explore the different aspects of magic before deciding to focus their attention on one. That it was far from enough was evident by the handwritten notes Merlin had slipped between its pages, trying to complete the information.

“You idiot,” murmured Arthur as he turned the pages. “Oh you stupid idiot.”

As the King's son, Arthur had at some point had some lessons about science. Not too many, not too much in depth, but enough to look like someone who understands what he's talking about, and to have it help him with his critical thinking skills. He could recognize good scientific work when he saw it. As far as he knew, Merlin had never had any training or education in that direction, and yet his notes had every methodical thoroughness to them that marked a good scientist. Gaius must have taught him. Still, it was very remarkable just how good he was at this. Arthur knew Merlin. He had seen him struggle to accomplish even the most basic tasks one could ask from a servant. But it was evident that he would have made a great scholar.

As to the actual content of the book... Arthur definitely learned a lot. Things he didn't really want to know, because he  _ wasn't allowed to know them _ . By reading that book, he was committing a capital crime, the worst of crimes in his father's eyes. Maybe as Crown Prince he was privileged enough not to be executed for it, but the bare minimum of punishment he could count with was to be disowned by his father and banished forever. 

But they were also things that, if they were indeed true, Arthur definitely needed to know about. Most of the magic presented in the book went directly against everything he had learned magic was. It was gentle and calm and nurturing. It flowed through everything and gave them life, and the book encouraged everyone to respect and foster that life in a way Arthur remembered Merlin doing it. He'd laughed at him, every time, when he'd done or said something in that direction. Careful Arthur, be more quiet Arthur, don't hurt that unicorn, Arthur... And Arthur had  _ laughed at him _ .

He looked back at the man sleeping in the bed so close to him. So far away. 

He wondered if he could ever look at Merlin the same way again.

And for a moment, Arthur imagined a life where they would be sitting on the floor together, Merlin showing him his book and explaining to him its contents. A world where he could actually share these things with him.

Positive that he wouldn't find any information directly relevant to their current situation in the book, Arthur closed it and hid it away in his desk. Not a very good hiding place, but then again, he was above suspicion, no-one would dare to look. He then crawled back into bed next to Merlin, but didn't sleep again. Instead, he watched the man next to him, and he thought about magic.

* * *

Get up, make a round in the castle, pretend he was in control. It hurt. Being close to Merlin hurt too, but being separated from him was more painful than any injury Arthur ever had sustained in a tournament.

“Father, please.”

“No. Morgana needs me.”

“ _ The kingdom _ needs you. Just for a few hours, just to make sure you see everything for yourself. I can get Morgana's maid to watch over her for that time.”

Uther gave his son a piercing look.

“You just want to get the day off.”

“Well...,” trailed Arthur off. The answer was yes. But he couldn't say this out loud.

“While I do the actual serious work!”

“I want you to at least look at what your people are going through!”, exclaimed Arthur. So much for tact. Well then. “And I want them to  _ see you doing something _ other than hiding away in your ward's bedroom! Concerned is one thing, but  _ this _ , this is another one altogether. Are you even  _ aware _ of what rumours are spreading?” Guinevere had told him some of them, and Arthur spent the rest of his time since trying to forget the images they conjured up in his mind. They were not kind rumours.

Uther stared at him with that angry, piercing look he used when he wanted to make his son feel guilty about himself and whatever subject he'd been advocating for. It usually worked. Arthur also usually didn't feel as if his heart had been torn out and all what was left was a bloody wound in his chest. He just stared back without really feeling anything.

“All right,” decided Uther. “Call the maid, I will take a moment to look at how everything is going.”

* * *

Everything was  _ not _ going well. The one positive thing Arthur could say about the next few hours was that his father was satisfied with the way he had handled affairs so far. He wanted to feel proud of himself, but couldn't. He couldn't really feel anything except for a deep, aching longing to be back in his chambers, close to Merlin. As close as possible.  _ Closer _ than possible. 

The forester and the guard Arthur had sent with him returned, just to confirm both his and Lancelot's claim that the land felt like it had been drained of its life force. Also, some places truly were missing. Places that were connected to the Old Religion in one way or another. Simply gone.

Uther repeated a few times that it was magic, and that the guards should put in more effort to find the sorcerer. It made Arthur feel really uneasy. He could only imagine how hard it must have been for Morgana and Merlin to live in that climate of steady paranoia, day in, day out.

Which of course made him think of Merlin again. Being back at his side, holding his hand,  _ touching _ ... He forcefully stopped himself before his daydreams could get the better of him. These were not thoughts fit for polite company.

As soon as he could, Arthur excused himself and short of ran to his chambers. As soon as the door was closed he  _ did _ run, raced to his bed and fell on his knees next to it.  _ Merlin.... _ He took his hand into his, and felt the physical connection ease the pain in his chest a little. Merlin. Arthur pressed his face against the hand, and a relieved sob rose in his chest. He didn't even try to hold it back, and soon he was shaking and crying as he knelt on the floor, his face pressed against Merlin's hand.

“Arthur?”, asked Guinevere out of nowhere right next to his right ear, making him jump.

“Guinevere! What- How long have you been here?”

“A while. Are you all right?”

Arthur ran a hand over his face. He was so tired, and the pain was still throbbing in his chest, worse than any wound he could remember ever receiving.

_ Know your limits. _

“No. I can’t do this for much longer. We need to find something, quickly.”

“We do.” Lancelot stepped out from a half-hidden corner. Arthur tensed, and instinctively reached towards the dagger that he was still carrying.

“I didn’t go anywhere near him,” said Lancelot.

“That’s right, he didn’t,” confirmed Guinevere. “I have been here with him all the time.”

“What did you find?”, asked Arthur.

“Nothing. Gaius has a very big personal library, but it is all about medicine. If there  _ is _ something about magic hidden there, then he hid it too well.”

“And you?”, asked Guinevere.

“I have looked through the book. There is a lot there, but nothing we seem to be able to do. Especially not without magic.”

“What about Merlin’s notes?”, asked Lancelot. Arthur shot him a murderous look.

“I didn’t have the time, I have  _ work _ to do.”

And also because the mare existence of those notes wasn’t something he wanted to actually think about. The idea of reading about magical experiments in Merlin’s familiar handwriting was too much for him to bear.

They looked through them together, sitting on the floor next to the bed like it seemed to be becoming a habit. None of them acknowledged that it was so that Arthur could hold Merlin’s hand while working.

It was a painful experience. The notes described in cold detail most of the times something strange or inexplicable had happened since Merlin first saved Artur’s life. All the times Arthur had thought that he had accomplished something special. All the times he thought that he’d been lucky. And a disturbing amount of occasions he didn’t even  _ know _ about. Merlin had recorded what kind of spells he had used, how he had improvised, and what kind of lessons he had learned.

“This is insane,” murmured Guinevere. “He’d be burned alive if anyone found this.”

“He’d be burned for the book alone,” said Arthur. “One more evidence won’t change much.” 

He was trying very hard to banish the picture from his head of what would happen to Merlin, and possibly Gaius too, if the King ever discovered his secret. His hatred for magic would get them killed, that much was certain, but  _ this _ level of insolence, practising right under his nose,  _ meddling in state affairs with magic _ … This was personal. The usual punishment wouldn’t do. But what could be worse than being burned alive? It was the most serious form of execution they practised. It was a long, and very, very painful death.

Arthur didn’t doubt for a moment that his father would find some way to make it even worse. Without even having to break his own law. Uther was an expert on legal loopholes, he had to be if he wanted to keep others from exploiting them.

“Magicians love recording their work,” said Lancelot. “At least the ones I know of. Even the Druids have some kind of system, but they keep it very secret. I have met one or two magic users aboard, they all have huge libraries and keep detailed records of their activities. They have to, from what I understood, magic is complicated.”

Arthur perked up. This was the first useful idea he had since magic had been sucked out of Camelot.

“Your friends, those magicians you met, could  _ they _ know anything about what we can do?”

Lancelot slowly shook his head.

“Even if they do, they are too far away. It would take weeks to get to them, and we don’t have that much time.”

They didn’t. Arthur couldn’t tell how he knew that, but he did.

“What about the Druids?”, asked Guinevere. 

“They must be affected the same way all other sorcerers are,” said Arthur.

“If they weren’t, they would have contacted you by now,” said Lancelot.

They were silent for a while. Guinevere absent-mindedly turned some pages. Then she stopped. It took Arthur’s tired brain a moment to realize that she had arrived at one of the biggest heroic deeds in his life. Which, as it tuned out, had fully been Merlin’s doing.  _ Again. _

“What about him?” she asked quietly, not really expecting any answer. “He has helped Merlin in the past.”

The Great Dragon.  _ Kilgarah _ .

* * *

There were a good number of problems with their plan. But it was, as they had to admit after another long hour of sitting around, staring blankly into empty space and occasionally saying something that they discarded immediately after, literally the  _ only _ thing even vaguely resembling a plan that they could come up with.

They had to find the Great Dragon and ask for his advice.

Which lead to some problems.

First, they had no idea where to even start looking. Merlin seemed to have some way of contacting him, even after he escaped from the underground cave he’d been kept in, but the notes didn’t say  _ what _ that way was.

Second, dragons were creatures of magic. Even if, by some miracle, they found him, there was no way to tell whether he’d even be conscious or not. And this was already assuming that he hadn’t died or just dissolved into thin air.

Third, Merlin could safely interact with the dragon because he was a Dragonlord and could control him. Neither Arthur, nor Guinevere, nor Lancelot had this advantage.

Fourth,  _ Merlin was a Dragonlord. _ It was not even the worst discovery Arthur had made about him in the last days, but… It was all a bit much. That was all.

Which led to the fifth problem: Arthur had increasingly serious difficulties leaving Merlin’s side, which made going on an unorganized quest to hopefully maybe find a dragon somewhere pretty much impossible. Moving around in the castle all day was already difficult and painful enough.

They shortly debated to just send Lancelot. This would have the added advantage that he wouldn’t be risking his life by sitting right under the King’s nose any more. (And that, supplied a venomous part of Arthur’s mind, he would be far away from him. And from Merlin.) But they discarded the idea because the Great Dragon would have no reason to talk to Lancelot. The only one who maybe stood some chance with him was Arthur.

“This is useless,” decided Arthur, and went to visit Morgana. Guinevere accompanied him, Lancelot stayed behind. (It was all right, he wouldn’t harm Merlin, on the contrary, he would protect him if needed, that was a good thing, and Arthur  _ did _ trust him… Then why was he so tense?) 

They were already on their way back when Guinevere suddenly stopped still. 

“The cave!” exclaimed she. “The cave under the castle! Why don’t we look there?”

“He has been held prisoner there for decades,” argued Arthur. “He wouldn’t  _ come back _ .”

“No, but maybe we find some clues or something. And besides” for a moment she had a mischievous glint in her eyes that reminded Arthur painfully of Morgana “don’t you want to see it?”

He did. Of course he wanted to see the underground cave where his father had imprisoned a  _ dragon _ for years without anyone noticing. But he  _ also _ wanted to go back to Merlin.

_ This is exactly like getting wounded in battle,  _ thought Arthur out of nowhere _. You just want to lay down and rest, but that would mean never getting up again, so you have to keep going no matter what. _

It was a reassuring thought. At least this was something familiar. This was something he had been drilled for.

They got to the cave without any problems. Merlin had described the way in one of his notes. The guards they passed didn’t question or try to stop them, they just nodded politely at Arthur and continued their way. Arthur and Guinevere each took a torch, and they carefully descended into the secret tunnel.

Eventually, the tunnel gave way to an opening, and the two friends stepped on a ledge overlooking a giant cave. It was so huge that they couldn’t see the walls. Stalagmites and stalactites twice Arthur’s size were growing from the floor or hanging from the high ceiling. It was a breathtaking place.

And it did take Arthur’s breath away, although not figuratively. 

Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Arthur dropped his torch and gasped desperately, his hands clawing at thin air, looking for the thing that was squeezing his windpipe shut. They found nothing.

“Arthur!” yelled Guinevere and hurried to his side.

She took his arm and gently helped him to sit down. It was the last thing Arthur knew before he sank into a dream just like the ones he had about Merlin and the lake.

* * *

_ “Young Prince.” _

_ Arthur looked up. He was still in the cave, but Guinevere was gone. On a large rock not far away sat a shape that had haunted his nightmares for longer than he cared to admit. _

_ The Great Dragon. _

_ Arthur slowly stood up. He wasn’t carrying his sword, just as he hadn’t been when he and Guinevere had entered the cave. In retrospect, going there unarmed hadn’t been his wisest decision. He did have the dagger he’d attacked Lancelot with, but what good was a dagger against a dragon? _

_ But Kilgarah didn’t attack him. He didn’t even breathe fire in his direction. Instead, he just sat there and watched Arthur struggle to think. _

_ “Well,” he said finally. “You sought me. Now that you found me, don’t you have anything to say?” _

_ Arthur gaped again. The dragon’s voice was friendly. Arthur had never heard a dragon speak before, and he had always imagined their voice to be angry and aggressive. _

_ “Merlin,” he said finally. _

_ “The young warlock,” said the dragon. “Your soulmate. What about him?” _

_ “He’s sick.” _

_ “He’s  _ dying _. And the only person to blame for it is you, Arthur Pendragon.” _

_ “I just wanted to…” Arthur swallowed when he realized how shallow the truth made him sound. “Impress my father.” _

_ “And? Is he impressed?” _

_ Arthur thought about the Sleepers, slowly fading away. One of them was Morgana, the ward Uther loved like his own daughter, another Gaius, the closest the King allowed himself to a friend. _

_ “He doesn’t know what I did.” _

_ “And yet you tore both your land and your own soul apart for him.” _

_ “Is there a way to fix it?” He was pleading, and would have been ashamed of it in any other situation, but in this one, Arthur didn’t care. “Please, I’ll do anything!” _

_ “You should have learned by now to be careful with your words, especially if spoken to a creature of magic. Anything, Young Prince?” _

_ “Anything.” _

_ The Dragon looked at him for a long time, as if he was trying to see how determined he really was. Arthur stood his gaze. Anything. He would give anything to save Merlin. Of this he was certain. _

_ And the others. Morgana, Gaius, his innocent subjects in the villages. It was just that he could feel the pain of Merlin fading even in his dream. As long as Merlin was involved, he couldn’t bring himself to care about other things. Not like they deserved to be cared about. _

_ The Great Dragon finally lowered his head a little. He seemed to be satisfied with what he had seen. _

_ “I did not cast the spell, therefore I have no power to lift it,” he said. “You need to find the one who did, and beg him for his mercy.” _

_ “The old man?” asked Arthur. _

_ “He’s not a man, but a creature of the Old Religion. He will demand a sacrifice.” _

_ “Where do I find him?” _

_ The Dragon had kind eyes. How could a dragon have such kind eyes? _

_ “You know which way to go. You feel it.” _

_ Arthur concentrated for a moment, and yes, he actually did know. _

_ “North-west,” said he. The Dragon nodded in approval, and then the dream was suddenly over. _

* * *

“I’m coming with you,” said Lancelot.

“No,” said Arthur.

“Sire, you are in no fit condition to go on a quest alone.”

“I am in no fit condition to go on a quest at all,” shrugged Arthur. “But it is our only chance.”

“Then why....” started Guinevere.

“Because I need you here! Right now, you are the only two people I know for sure I can trust.”

“I would be more help to you outside,” argued Lancelot.

Technically, he was right. He probably knew the road Arthur was going to take, and he was one of the three most skilled swordsmen he knew. But practically…

“I need you to protect Merlin.”

Arthur was sitting on his side of the bed, but at its rand, so that his legs were pressed up against Merlin’s side. He was absent-mindedly playing with a lock of his hair. Touching Merlin miraculously cleared his head.

Lancelot gave him a Look, but didn’t argue any further.

The plan was: Arthur would leave as soon as possible, the same night even. He’d leave a note for the King about where he went and tell him to please take back his duties running the country. He’d follow the direction his vision had indicated him, find the magician who’d done this to them and beg him to take his spell back. Lancelot would stay in his chambers, guarding Merlin from whatever harm could come to his body. Guinevere in the meantime would help a little spread the rumour that the Prince had gone on a heroic quest to save the land, and that Merlin had gone with him. The poor woman had gone through more and more intense mental gymnastics trying to hide from the other servants that one of them was missing, so this would help her solve that problem, at least.

In praxis, Arthur couldn’t get himself to stop touching Merlin.

He tried to get up, but as soon as he started, the familiar mixture between pain and fear flared up in him, and he couldn’t help but press himself back against the unconscious man in his bed. This happened multiple times.

Finally, Guinevere took things into her own hands. She went straight for the drawer Arthur kept his handkerchiefs in, took out the two that looked the least expensive, and walked back to the bed.

“Arthur, could you lend me your knife?”

“Dagger,” corrected Arthur and Lancelot her at the same time. Arthur smiled, and reached over the dagger.

He realized that it was a mistake a moment later, when Guinevere turned her attention to Merlin. Arthur cried out, but she was faster and sliced off a lock of black hair. She wrapped it in one of the handkerchiefs and reached it to Arthur.

“Here.”

Arthur blinked at her, his heart still beating too fast from his scare just now.

“What?”

Guinevere smiled at him one of those endearing smiles that she always smiled when she was embarrassed.

“Folk magic,” explained she. “Lovers sometimes exchange a lock of hair. It is supposed to help you stay connected even when you are apart. And I thought, maybe…”

“Maybe it works.” Arthur took the little package and put it in the pocket of his vest, just over his heart.

Folk magic was, despite its name, not actual magic, but the superstitions and little traditions that normal people had developed over the course of centuries that they believed carried supernatural powers. Love spells were one of those. Uther had banned folk magic at the same time he had banned the real thing, but it continued to survive, passed from mouth to ear, and because it was harmless, nobody actually bothered to seriously persecute it. Everybody knew a little folk magic. Nobody ever admitted it, because it was considered to be embarrassing.

Arthur cut off some of his own hair, and hoped, for the first time in his life, that there was some truth behind the superstition. He didn’t know what was going on in Merlin’s mind, if he was still able to feel anything, if he felt the same anguish as Arthur did as their bond slowly tore. But he did know, instinctively, that he needed to be close to him.

Arthur gently closed Merlin’s hand around the handkerchief wrapped around his hair, and laid it on his chest, over his heart. He allowed himself to run his fingers through his hair one last time, then started to get up… And hesitated. There was one more thing. Something that had wanted for a long time now, but always stopped himself from doing. It was stupid, and reckless, and would change too much, and none of it mattered any more.

Arthur bent over Merlin, until their faces were close enough for them to be breathing the same air. He lingered there for a moment, then he moved a little higher and gently kissed his soulmate on the forehead.

“I will be back,” he whispered.  _ Hold on _ .

Then he pulled away and got up.

Arthur glared for a moment at Guinevere and at Lancelot, daring them to say anything. But they didn’t. Lancelot had a knowing look in his eyes when he wished him good luck for a last time, and Guinevere wouldn’t look at him as she gave him the little package of food she managed to gather in the kitchen at the last moment.

“Take care of him,” said Arthur one last time.

“You can count on us,” promised Lancelot one last time.

Then finally Arthur left his chambers, leaving behind his two friends and… Merlin. Whatever Merlin was to him.

* * *

Arthur wondered whether he should be happy or concerned about how easy it was to sneak past every single guard and steal the best horse from the royal stables. Not that it had come as a surprise, he’d done it before. Many times. Sneaking around at night was just one of those things one did in Camelot. 

Arthur remembered that one time, when he’d been ten years old and a family from a neighbouring kingdom had visited. Father, mother, and their two daughters. Twins, more or less the same age as Arthur and Morgana. They had of course acted like good hosts should and immediately invited the girls for a midnight escapade on the top of one of the towers. They would bring snacks, and then they could tell each other scary stories. Arthur and Morgana had done it countless times already. But the twins were  _ scandalized _ . They wanted to do  _ what _ ? Stay up past their bedtime? Sneak out of their rooms?? Steal food from the kitchens??? Apparently, the girls had never done something like this before. Apparently, they at home had two guards standing all night at their doors, and during daytime their nanny and their tutors kept a close eye on them.

It had been the first time Arthur had realized that maybe his levels of freedom weren’t universal. It had also been a fun visit. By the time they had to leave, the twins were almost as good at sneaking around at night as he and Morgana were.

Arthur remembered fondly this incident as he silently led his horse out of the stables. He continued thinking about the twins as he mounted and rode out of the court. They were young women by now. Arthur wondered how they were doing, if they were engaged yet, and whether they still liked nuts covered with honey and stories about ghosts.

About evil witches and wizards. How they lurk in dark corners, ready to catch little children and eat them with roasted vegetables. He had enjoyed these stories when he was little, just like any other child had. Morgana had been great at making up the most scary ones, back before her sharp sense of justice had kicked in and she was only interested in scaring her adopted brother as much as possible. Arthur remembered how disappointed he’d been when she suddenly refused to tell him any more horror stories about evil wizards, and instead was only going on and on about how  _ real _ wizards probably weren’t all that bad and certainly didn’t deserve to be beheaded.

Thinking about this made Arthur feel slightly ill. The stories were all still colourful and livid in his memory, but for some reason the witches now all looked like Morgana and the wizards looked like Merlin. The happy ending had been their death. Every. Single. Time.

He kept thinking while he rode through the silent lower town and finally left the houses behind. The full moon shone brightly, he knew the roads, they were good quality and well-maintained, and the only thing he really had to concentrate on was to keep riding instead of turning around and running back to Merlin.

It had been a long time since he last sneaked out at night just for fun. Maybe he should do it again. Maybe they all should. Him, Morgana, Merlin and Guinevere. Lancelot too, since he was still there. Maybe they should meet in the middle of the night on top of the highest tower, eat nuts with honey and just look at the stars and talk. They had much to discuss, after this.

Part of Arthur’s brain reminded him that this would be treason. Meeting up with two known sorcerers and a renegade knight in the middle of the night to discuss  _ magic _ definitely counted as treason and conspiracy. What he was doing right now already was treason. He had been committing treason ever since he knew about the magic and chose not to share this information with his father, the King.

Arthur felt his pocket. The handkerchief was still there, just over his heart. In it safely rolled up the lock of Merlin’s hair.

He rode on, and thought very hard about anything and everything to distract himself from the pain in his chest and the almost irresistible pull in the direction he came from.

He rode on.

* * *

_ Merlin was hanging from the edge of the cliff, where the water thundered down in a silent and surprisingly peaceful waterfall. He was holding on to some rocks, and Arthur was lying on his stomach, clinging desperately to his friend’s wrist, trying to hold him up. _

_ Merlin’s eyes were shining golden. It suited him. But they were filled to the brim with pain, and fear, and an angry, intense concentration. It was not a look that Arthur wanted to see in Merlin’s eyes, but yes, he did have to admit that it made him look even more attractive. _

More stubborn than a mule,  _ thought Arthur fondly.  _

_ He and Merlin stared into each other’s eyes for a long time, trying to keep holding on to their courage and to each other. _

_ When Arthur finally managed to tear himself away from those eyes, and looked around, he saw people, way too many people, hanging from the cliff just the way Merlin did. _

* * *

Arthur woke from his short nap more tired than he’d felt when he’d lain down. At least Lightening seemed somewhat refreshed. He had ridden without a break until well in the morning, demanding a lot from his horse, and the poor animal really proved its status as the best of the best by faithfully letting him. They had come a long way before Arthur finally allowed them a break, and he knew instinctively that they still had a much longer way left to go.

The dream had reminded him of the fact that he didn’t have much time left.

Not for the first time, Arthur felt for the lock of hair in his pocket. It was still there, and the reminder made him feel better.

He considered for a moment to eat some of the food Guinevere had packed for him, but the thought alone made him feel sick, so he decided against it. He did drink from the nearby stream, then he continued his journey.

* * *

Much as he hated to admit it, the Forester had been right: There was something “very wrong” with the forests. Arthur couldn’t describe it any better, either, he just felt constantly on edge. It had something to do with the birdsong, and the rustling of the leaves, and the sunshine shining through the trees. They were all lacking something of their usual liveliness, making Arthur feel as if he was riding through a very realistic dreamscape that looked exactly like his home, but had nothing alive about it.

Lightening could feel it too. He was noticeably nervous, sniffing the air with wide nostrils and turning his ears round and round, as if he was listening for some noise inaudible to human ears. Or maybe the lack thereof.

The feeling remained all day. Arthur tried very hard to distract himself, but there wasn’t much to distract himself with except for his own thoughts, and those were spinning round and round in very disagreeable spirals. Mostly, he was thinking of the situation he left behind, and all the number of things that could have gone wrong in his absence. Then his thoughts returned to his dream about the lake, and all the people hanging over the abyss. He didn’t have any doubts about who those people were, and what would happen to them when they fell. When, not if. He also didn’t have any doubts about the only way of saving them. He wondered how long he had left.

Arthur caught himself fondling the handkerchief again.  _ Hold on, Merlin. _

He only stopped when he was already close to the border, when it was beginning to get dark. It was a lovely spot, by some rocks that provided protection from one side, a stream just some meters away. There was enough grass for the horse, but it wasn’t so open that Arthur would have felt exposed. Under any other circumstance, he’d loved to camp there, but the uneasy feeling of wrongness prevailed. Arthur wanted to ride on, but the well-maintained roads around the castle were far behind him now, and the uneven forest floor was too risky at night. Besides, both he and Lightening were hungry, thirsty and exhausted. He had pushed themselves too far as it was.

It took him ridiculously long to get a fire started. The wood wasn’t even wet! Merlin always managed a fire in half this time, even with wet wood.

_ And why do you think is that _ , thought Arthur with a ping of self-irony. He stared at the smoking pile of twigs and dry leaves for a long moment, processing this ridiculously late realization and wondering what else Merlin might have used magic for right under his nose without him noticing.

The list was eerily long. It started out with chores he shouldn’t have finished this soon, continued with things he shouldn’t have known, and ended with lucky accidents Arthur shouldn’t have just brushed off. A heavy branch falling off a tree just the right moment to hit Arthur’s opponent on the head. Stones rolling down a stone wall, effectively blocking the path between him and people pursuing him. Merlin knowing about every single malicious magical activity in Camelot, and telling Arthur, warning him, always, begging him to heed the danger. Arthur always ignored him. The sorcerers then usually met quick and hard to explain ends.

_ Idiot _ , thought Arthur with a mix of admiration, fondness and horror.  _ How often have you saved my life without anyone knowing? _

He wished with a burning intensity that Merlin was there, so that he could  _ ask _ him. Not nicely, he’d demand an answer, force it out of his manservant, probably by jumping him from behind and wrestling him to the ground. Merlin wouldn’t stand a chance, the way he  _ wasn’t supposed to _ stand a chance against a trained knight. He must have cheated with magic all those times when he’d somehow won and left Arthur flabbergasted. But that was over now, he would be paying better attention!

Arthur imagined pinning him down, holding him so tightly that even a knight would have difficulties getting out.  _ Well  _ Mer _ lin, _ he almost could hear himself say,  _ you’ll just have to magic yourself free, won’t you? _ He remembered the golden eyes from his dream. He wanted to see them again, in the real world, close enough to observe every shade in them, no matter how slight. Steady Merlin’s face and stare into his eyes, watch them change colour, from dark brown to bright gold and back to brown.  _ They really do suit you _ .

See what he’d answer to that.

_ And you?,  _ heard he Merlin ask once more.  _ What is it that  _ you  _ want? _

_ It doesn't matter what I want, _ was what he’d answered that last time, and it was still true.  _ But that doesn’t stop me from fantasizing about dragging you to my bed and holding you close while we both fall asleep. _

One of the things he’d tried very hard to avoid thinking about was the revelation that he and Merlin were connected somehow. The magic involved still made him feel uncomfortable, and so did the idea that he was utterly dependent on somebody else. Not to mention the pain he was currently feeling, as if his heart was being torn in two. But on the other side… It probably explained some things about their strangely close connection, and about his own irresistible attraction to his manservant. And maybe… maybe it meant that Merlin felt the same way.

Arthur finished his dinner. He still had difficulties eating, which was just as well: As long as he had enough energy to continue his journey, there was little point in wasting the food he had with him. Gathering new one would take time, time he didn’t have.

Merlin would have complained about the rations. Just as he would have complained about the exhausting day-long ride. And that it was cold. Merlin  _ always _ complained that it was cold when they had to sleep outside, no matter how warm it actually was. As if he was tempting Arthur to invite him to share his blanket.

And damn, was he close to succeeding.

Maybe he really was, wondered Arthur. If there really was a magical connection between them, and that connection was the reason he felt so drawn to him, if that connection went two ways…

Either ways, that was now over. A warlock had absolutely no excuse to be cold at night, no matter the circumstances. Arthur was looking forward to pointing this out the next time Merlin was complaining.  _ Why don’t you just solve it with magic then? _ Thinking about it, it really was a wonderful thing to tease him with. As Arthur stretched out to sleep, he started plotting new ways of making his servant's life miserable. They mostly revolved around throwing ridiculous obstacles in his way and telling him to just solve them with magic, regardless of whether that was even possible or not.

_ Oh, the door to my chambers is locked? Can’t you open it with magic? _

_ I have given you a list of chores that should normally take one three days to finish? Well, you always use magic to do them any ways, don’t you? _

_ This tower is too high? Why can’t you just fly up? _

_ Start a fire with wood I just pulled out of the river? Magic. _

Arthur smiled at himself. Merlin would  _ hate _ this. It promised to be a lot of fun.

Maybe he could get Morgana involved. She was the best co-conspirator who had ever walked the Earth, and she must know a lot about magic. Definitely enough to tell him what would annoy Merlin most.

* * *

_ Merlin was slipping from his grasp. Arthur could see panic in his eyes as he was trying to cling to him, but their skin was slippery from the water and he was heavy, so heavy, a dead weight Arthur couldn’t completely hold much longer.  _

No no no no no, hold on, just for a bit longer!

_ The golden eyes were full of fear, and the determination from the previous dreams had given place to wariness and resignation. They kept fluttering closed, as if Merlin was on the verge of losing consciousness. His grip on Arthur’s hand was getting weak. _

_ “Merlin!”, yelled Arthur. “MERLIN!!” _

_ He received no answer. _

* * *

Arthur awoke in a state of near panic after no more than three hours of sleep, and it took him a while to calm down again. As soon as he’d done that, he jumped up and broke camp in a record time. By sunrise, he was ready to ride on.

The early morning passed in a blur. Arthur later vaguely remembered riding past trees and bushes and rocks, and that breathing had seemed slightly easier once he reached the other side of the border. He was pretty certain that he had taken his handkerchief from his pocket and was holding it tightly in his fist. Any of these memories were just as likely to be true as they were likely to be a product of his semi-delirious mind.

At some point, Arthur lost consciousness.

Fainting on horseback was something he’d been trained to do, so he didn’t fall off, and the horse just kept carrying him aimlessly in whatever direction it went.

* * *

_ Merlin was hanging limp in his grip. Arthur had grabbed his wrist with both hands and was trying desperately to keep his hold on him, but the dead weight of an adult man was not something he would be able to hold for very long. _

_ There were only two outcomes to this, really: Either he let go, and sooner rather than later so that he’d have enough strength left to pull himself back up again, or he would be dragged into the abyss with Merlin and the other sorcerers. His upper body had almost lost all support already, leaving him hanging upside-down. _

_ He had to let go. _

_ He couldn’t let go. _

_ Tears were running down Arthur’s face, tears of pain and desperation and hopelessness, and he could feel Merlin’s wrist slip even further from his grip. _

_ At first, he didn’t notice the long vines wrapping itself around his ankles and quickly climbing their way up his legs. By the time it registered to him that something was wrong, his legs were completely covered and held down by ivy, to the point that Arthur wasn’t able to move them any more. _

_ The ivy kept on growing, enveloping his body, immobilizing him, then continuing its way down his arms. Arthur watched helplessly as Merlin disappeared in a cocoon of green, strong vines holding him up in a way that Arthur no longer had the force to. Then leaves covered his face, leaving him nothing other of the world than green darkness. _

* * *

Green was the first thing that Arthur saw when he came by, green leaves everywhere. It took him a moment to process that he was back in the real world once again, and that he was lying on a thick bed of ivy. He must have fallen off his horse at some point, and been extremely lucky to land on the plants without breaking any of his limbs.

As far as he could speak of “luck”, that is. The more he regained his consciousness, the more he realized that there was nothing natural about his situation. Ivy didn’t naturally grow into thick mattresses on the forest floor. It also had no reason to have grown all over his body, as if he’d been lying there for years already. And finally, there was a man standing over him.

He was wearing green, and had shoulder long white hair, but no beard. His age was indeterminable, his face looked young and old at the same time. He was leaning on a big staff, not unlike the one Arthur had found in Merlin’s chambers, and looked down on the prince with an unreadable expression.

Arthur tried to jump up, but the vines were holding him down. His first reflex was to tear himself free, but something held him back, a strong instinct telling him not to do anything the man might dislike. He forced himself to relax back into the ivy, and looked up at the sorcerer, waiting for his next move.

“My prince,” said the man. “You are far from your kingdom.”

His face might have changed, but Arthur knew that voice.

“My kingdom is dying,” said he. “As you very well know.”

The man who’d come to the throne room offering him to grant his wish shook his head.

“Dying? No, my prince. It has lost the thing that gives it life, but that doesn’t mean its death. It just means change.”

“There are people dying right now.”

He was still clenching the handkerchief with Merlin’s hair in his fist.

“People are not the kingdom. You humans keep forgetting that this world is bigger than you are.”

“You speak as if you weren’t human.”

The man smiled.

“What are you?”, asked Arthur.

“That shouldn’t be your concern, my prince. You searched for me, and I came. Now tell me the reason of your quest.”

Arthur had tried to prepare for this moment. He had mentally scripted a whole speech, putting into it everything he knew about diplomacy and politeness. But somehow his imagination hadn’t prepared him for the reality of the situation, which was him lying on his back tied down with ivy, feeling as if just a word of the spirit, or sorcerer, or whatever he was, would be enough to tear his soul apart for good.

“Bring magic back to Camelot.”

The man slowly shook his head.

“You are bold to pose demands, my prince. But no. One wish, I offered you. You made your choice, and I granted it. Our business is closed.”

This was an answer Arthur had been expecting. He didn’t even need much to get himself to say the next words.

“Please. I’ll give you anything.”

The man crooked his head, like a bird observing a strange stone.

“Anything, my prince?”

Self-sacrifice had been a likely option all along. Arthur clenched his fist with the handkerchief. He could only hope that whatever the sorcerer was going to do with him wouldn’t hurt Merlin. But even if it did… He’d rather have him hurt than see him fall into the abyss beyond the lake.

“If it is in my power to give, you have it.”

The vines pulled away, releasing him. Arthur stood carefully. His legs felt weak, and he was light-headed, but that was likely due to the lack of magic tearing his soul apart. Other than that, he was unharmed, and when he raised his fist to his heart, he felt slightly better. The connection was still there. Not much stronger than the few strings of hair he was carrying, but there nonetheless.

The man took some steps back, and gestured Arthur to follow him. As soon as he did, the ivy bed burst into flames. The man walked around it, murmuring a spell.

“And now to your sacrifice, my prince,” said he to Arthur. “You will give me what I want, it is your destiny. You will know it soon enough. To finish the spell, I need a tangible piece of magic.”

“I… I don’t have…”

“The lock of Emrys’ hair, my prince.”

It took Arthur a moment to understand what he was talking about, but when he did, he felt a cold shock run through him and took a step back without noticing.

Merlin’s hair.

Hair had, if used correctly, some rather powerful abilities. Lovers giving each other a lock of hair was supposed to strengthen their connection, but it also was a sign of trust, as a sorcerer could use it for a great number of enchantments. Arthur had known this all his life, as both he and his father had to burn their hair whenever they cut it, to make sure it didn’t fall in the wrong hands.

Had the sorcerer asked for a lock of  _ his _ hair, Arthur would have given it to him without hesitation. It was his fault that he’d got the kingdom into this mess, now it was his responsibility to get it out, no matter what personal cost. And he didn’t have any illusions about what way he could be useful to the sorcerer: Royal blood also had some rather strong magical powers.

But this was Merlin’s hair, and… It didn’t matter that it was the only thing keeping Arthur going. It didn’t matter that he was afraid about his soul tearing in two for good if he parted with it. It did, however, matter that a sorcerer who held a lock of his hair could use it against Merlin. And that… That was not something Arthur could take responsibility for.

He clenched the handkerchief in his fist, and thought of the young man, the one who was always so refreshingly disrespectful, the one who drank poison for him, the one who spent his life risking his life just to stay near him, the one who risked his life in even more pronounced ways to ward off any magical danger without ever asking for anything in return.

Merlin wouldn’t hesitate to give up his hair, either. Not to save all those people.

Arthur stepped towards the man, then stopped, hesitating.

“Do you swear that you will never use it to harm him?”

He could have sworn that the man’s eyes turned green for a moment, and he could feel the presence of something infinitely old, and infinitely powerful. Yet as he spoke, his voice was just as friendly as before.

“My prince, you have no more demands to make. Give me the hair, or leave!”

Arthur forced himself to reach him the little ball of tissue. The moment it left his hand, a strong wave of pain rolled over him, and he gasped, holding his heart with both hands.

The man was chanting something in the foreign language all magic spoke, holding the handkerchief in front of him. It started to glow golden, more and more brightly as the spell proceeded, until it outshone the flames. That was then the wizard threw it into the fire. Arthur gasped again.

“Go to him,” said the sorcerer.

“I’m sorry?” Arthur was still gasping for air.

The man was suddenly holding Lightening’s the reins in his hand, and reached them to him. Arthur took them, stunned. 

“Go to him.”

The sorcerer was pointing at the flames.

“You want me to walk into the…”

_ “Go to him. _ ”

Arthur took a deep breath and walked into the flames, leading his horse after him.

* * *

The next thing he knew, he was back in Camelot, stepping through the city gates. It was early morning, the sun hadn’t quite begun to rise yet and the streets were still empty. Which Arthur was definitely grateful for, as he could have sworn that both he and Lightening had a golden glow around them for a few seconds after their sudden appearance.

The faithful animal snorted, and Arthur absent-mindedly patted his neck as he started to lead him to the stables. He felt an almost irresistible pull towards his chambers, but the horse was a horse, and horses always,  _ always _ came first.

He run into a patrol a street away from the stables. The men stopped, staring at him in surprise.

“Anything unusual?”, asked Arthur with his usual authority, trying to hide how his heart was hammering from fright. 

The patrol leader shook his head.

“Good,” said Arthur. “Me neither. One of you, take my horse to the stables and see that he is looked after. Carry on.”

He left the men to recover from their surprise, and hurried towards the castle. He didn’t bother stopping at the armoury, as he’d only taken a sword with him any way, and reached his chambers still fully armed without any further incidents.

Guinevere and Lancelot were sharing a heap of blankets in front of the fireplace, but they both jumped up the moment they heard the door open.

“How is he?”, demanded Arthur without stopping to even look at his friends as he strode past them to the bed.

“Unchanged, sire,” said Lancelot, following him. “Did you…”

“I found the sorcerer who did this. He told me to return.”

“He refused to help you?”, asked Guinevere.

Arthur thought a long moment about her question as he reached his bed. He sat down, and just stared at Merlin’s unconscious form.

“I don’t think so. His words were literately ‘ _ go to him’ _ . Well, I’m here…”

“Maybe you should do something?”, suggested Guinevere. Arthur couldn’t help himself, he rolled his eyes at her.

“ _ Thank you _ , Guinevere. And  _ what _ ?!”

Guinevere flinched.

“Sire, if I may,” interjected Lancelot. “But if I know anything about magic, then you already know.”

Arthur just shook his head, feeling more and more desperate.

“Touch him!”, exclaimed Guinevere. “Arthur, at the beginning, when you touched him, he reacted!”

She had a point, Arthur remembered the way Merlin had sighed when he’d cupped his face. And more importantly, he wanted to do it again. Very, very badly.

Merlin’s left hand was still balled to a fist around Arthur’s hair, resting above his heart just the way he had left him. Arthur gently covered it with his own hand, caressing it with his thumb. His other hand, he gently run over his face, smoothing hair back.

Merlin and Arthur both gasped at the same time, as a kind of shock went through his entire soul, without doubt crossing the link and spreading the Merlin’s, too. Arthur’s fingers had left a slight golden trace where he’d touched Merlin’s face.

He looked down. Their hands were radiating a soft, golden light.

_ Magic. _

Arthur acted on instinct: He bent down and gently gathered his soulmate in his arms, pulling him to a sitting position, pressed closely against him. He pressed their cheeks together and buried one hand into Merlin’s hair, holding him. The glow intensified, coming from everywhere where their skin touched. It seeped into the air and then dissolved, but some of it appeared to be absorbed by Arthur himself. It felt good, good in a way he’d never felt before, as if he was regaining some more of his self with every breath he took.

The whole world was golden, gold filled his vision and Arthur closed his eyes, but he still could feel Merlin pressed against him, his head on his shoulder. He run his hand through his hair, over his neck, and for a moment he thought about what it would be like if more of their skin was touching. It was a very tempting thought, and Arthur later wondered often whether or not he would have followed through under different circumstances, but as it was, he felt unable to break any of the skin contact that he  _ did _ have.

He didn’t know how long he was sitting there, enveloped in magic, but he was feeling like an actual human once again. Finally, he could hear Merlin breathing in deeply right next to his ear.

“Arthur?” murmured he.

Arthur didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or to cry or to kiss his servant, and contented himself with changing his grip on him so that he could use his free hand to cup his face. He shifted so that their foreheads would be pressed together instead of their cheeks, close enough to feel each other’s breaths. The air between them was shimmering slightly golden, and they both breathed it in and out and in.

Merlin slowly opened his eyes, and Arthur wasn’t surprised to find that they were glowing golden. He had been right, it really did suit him.

They stared at each other, speechless, overwhelmed by the magic flowing through them. Arthur could almost see how Merlin slowly gained his strength back, how it was easier for him to keep his eyes open and how he was sitting more and more on his own instead of hanging limply in Arthur’s arms.

Finally, Merlin reached the point where he was lucid enough to realize what was going on with him. He gasped and tore away, colluding hard with the big cushions at the head of the bed as his eyes went wide with shock and horror. They were still little pools of gold.

The magic ebbed as soon as they stopped touching each other, and with it went the fuzzy warm feeling. Arthur blinked and tried to shake his head free. Merlin was still staring at him, breathing heavily, pressing himself as flat into the cushion behind his back as he could.

“I can explain,” was, surprisingly, the first thing he said. Arthur was still trying to clear his head, and didn’t immediately catch on to what he was talking about.

“Explain what?,” blinked he. “The magic?”

Merlin winced as if he’d physically slapped him. The magic had disappeared, leaving the world dark and colourless and Arthur feeling heavy. The only trace left of it were Merlin’s golden eyes.

“I didn’t…,” stammered the young man. “I never… Arthur, I…”

“Shut up,” said Arthur firmly. Too firmly, but he only realized that when the words were already out and he saw Merlin freeze. He reached out to touch him, intending to calm him down, but Merlin only looked more spooked, and before Arthur’s hand could reach him, he ducked away and tried to roll himself free. Arthur didn’t think, he just acted: He threw himself forwards, catching Merlin’s arms on both sides, and forcefully pushed him back where he’d been lying, maybe a bit harder than absolutely necessary. He pinned him down, and held him while Merlin struggled under him.

“Stay,” ordered Arthur with a voice of steel, and Merlin froze once more. “I’m not done with you yet.”

It was supposed to be playful, joking. It wasn’t, after all, all that different from the way they normally interacted. It might even have been, under different circumstances. In this one, it was nothing but threatening, and once again, Arthur realized it too late.

Something closed off in Merlin’s eyes. He looked up at Arthur with a calm that was very, very uncharacteristic of him. It was the calm of a man who had been trying to run, but got caught and knew that there was nothing left for him but to accept his fate.

“I’m yours.”

He took some deep, steadying breaths and forced himself to relax. Arthur slowly let go of him. Merlin closed his eyes, as if he was concentrating on something, then he shuddered and went completely limp once more.

Arthur cried out in pain.

* * *

If Arthur knew one thing about the past week with absolute certainty, then it was that Merlin had been fighting harder than anyone could even begin to understand. He had, somehow, held back the force of nature that was Arthur’s ill-conceived wish coming true, and kept magic from completely being sucked out of the land. If there were no casualties, then it was thanks to him. He had not only kept himself from going over the cliff, but all the other sorcerers, too. 

Now he had stopped fighting.

Arthur knew the exact moment when it happened, because he could feel it. He couldn’t claim that he understood the whole shared destiny thing, but he knew for sure that there was a bond between him and Merlin, that the bond was magical, and that it being intact was crucial to both their wellbeing. 

Now it felt as if the bond was tearing, ripping apart Arthur’s soul in the progress. The pain was bad enough to cloud any kind of rational thinking capacity he otherwise had.

Arthur threw himself at Merlin, screaming something incoherent about how he wouldn’t let him do this to him. He clawed at his friend wherever he could reach him, shaking him violently. It was strong enough to leave bruises.

He vaguely heard Guinevere yelling in the distance, something about him hurting him and  _ Arthur stop _ , but it was far away and didn’t feel real, so it didn’t really register until someone strong grabbed him from behind and forcefully pulled him away from Merlin.

Arthur struggled, trying to free himself, but he was semi-delirious and couldn’t coordinate his movements properly. His opponent had his arms pinned to his sides, and no matter how much Arthur twisted and screamed, he couldn’t get free.

“He’s going to alert the guards!” It was Lancelot’s voice, coming from right next to his ear. A moment later, a second set of hands were on him, pushing a piece of fabric into his mouth. Another one of his handkerchiefs, as Arthur later learned. He tried to spit it out, but the second person held their hand on his mouth, keeping him from making any noise.

“Sorry, Arthur, I’m so sorry!”, called Guinevere. Arthur continued to struggle, until the pain became too strong, and he was left hanging in Lancelot’s arms, too exhausted to move.

“I’ve got him,” said Lancelot, shifting his grip in order to let Arthur comfortably rest against his chest. He used one of his hands to run through the prince’s hair, the same way he had done with Merlin just now. “It’s all right, sire. You’re safe.”

He didn’t feel safe. He was in pain, and lacked the energy to do much about it. He grabbed Lancelot’s shirt with one shaky hand, looking for something, anything, stable. With his other hand, he was blindly clawing at thin air, reaching for someone who was too far away for him to grasp.

His eyes were closed, and he only heard Lancelot and Guinevere as if from a far, far distance away.

“How is he?” was Lancelot asking.

“Bad.” Guinevere sounded frightened. “He’s unconscious again and he is barely breathing.”

“Arthur too.”

“What happened? Something went wrong, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know, Gwen. I’m not a sorcerer.”

Somebody gently pulled the gag out of his mouth. Arthur grabbed Lancelot tighter and turned his face into his chest, mumbling incoherently.

“What is he saying?”

A warm hand petted his hair again, turning his head gently away from Lancelot’s chest as it did so.

“He’s calling for Merlin. And begging, but I don’t know whom, or what he’s asking.”

There was a moment of silence. He was probably hallucinating, but Arthur could have sworn that he heard the noise of a waterfall.

“He’s still holding Arthur’s hair,” said Guinevere quietly. “Do you think I shou… Did you hear that?”

Lancelot’s arm around Arthur tightened.

“Do that again.”

“He’s calling for Arthur,” muttered Guinevere. “But I don’t understand the language.”

“Magic,” said Lancelot simply. Something tugged at Arthur’s heart. He tried to grasp it, but there was only air. Had he had his eyes open, he would have seen the thin cord materialize between him and Merlin, the same that had bound them together back at the lake, before it all started. It was shimmering like the air above a fire and looked much more thin, much more breakable than it had back in his dream.

“Help me lay him down next to him,” said Lancelot in a strange tone of voice. Arthur was being moved. He could feel gently being lowered down on something soft, and instinctively curled on his side, towards something his subconscious knew to be there. He reached out, and this time there was something to grasp, a body lying next to him. Arthur held on to the rough tissue of the shirt, and curled closer, until he was lying with his head on the other man’s chest. He breathed out, and the world fell away from around him.

* * *

_ He was back at the lake, but instead of lying on his stomach covered in ivy, he was standing some paces away from the abyss. Merlin was standing, too, at the very edge, looking out into the void. Part of Arthur wanted to run to him and drag him back, but he was too far away. If he made another mistake, Merlin only had to take a step forward. Arthur couldn’t risk that. _

_ “You came,” said Merlin, and turned around. He looked different, in a way that Arthur couldn’t quite describe. It wasn’t his eyes shining golden, more like his posture. He stood upright, with a calm confidence that made him appear taller than he usually was. More like an authority. _

_ Arthur said the only thing that made sense in the given situation. _

_ “Merlin, what are you playing at, you idiot?!” _

_ He hoped for one of Merlin’s usual answers, for him to deflect or make light of the situation, or at least to answer with an insult. He did not. _

_ “Awaiting your orders, sire.” His tone had nothing playful about it. _

“What orders?” 

_ A small knife manifested in Merlin’s hand, made out of golden light and sharp enough to effortlessly cut through leather. The bristling connection between their hearts manifested between them. _

_ “Would you like me to sever it?” _

_ Arthur blinked at him. “What?” _

_ Merlin grabbed the golden cord with his free hand, and a shock went through Arthur. _

_ “Our destiny. Right now, I could sever it. You’d be free.” _

_ “And what about you?” _

_ Merlin shook his head. For the first time, the gold in his eyes was clouded by tears. _

_ “I exist only for one reason. If you have no further use of me…” He averted his look, turning his head towards the abyss. _

_ “You can’t be serious,” said Arthur. _

_ “Magic is still unstable,” said Merlin. “Right now, I could do it. We won’t get this chance again, Arthur.” _

_ “Not that. What do you mean, only for one reason?” _

_ “To protect you. To serve you. To…” Merlin swallowed. “Your destiny is to be a great king. Mine is to help you as much as I can. For as long as you like.” _

_ “And when I don’t, you’ll just throw yourself off a cliff?!” _

_ Merlin shrugged. _

_ “I never really thought about it. I don’t think I’ll live that long, either way.” _

_ He was much too close to the abyss for this discussion. Too far from Arthur and too close to the abyss. _

_ “Come closer. Just…” Merlin took some steps away from the cliff and towards Arthur. Arthur sighed. “Thank you. You… You really believe everything you just said, don’t you?” _

_ “I do.” _

_ “Merlin, you idiot.” _

_ Merlin blinked at him. _

_ “Where do you even  _ get _ such an idea?!” _

_ Merlin blinked again, looking increasingly confused. _

_ “It’s my- our…” _

_ “Destiny?”, finished Arthur. “And how are you supposed to know that, you idiot?” _

_ “Everyone knows. Everyone with enough magic. The Dragon, Gaius, the Druids. They…” _

_ Arthur only realized at that moment that he was moving slowly towards Merlin, step by step. He was very close now. _

_ “Did they tell you that your only purpose in life was to serve me?” _

_ Merlin swallowed hard and looked away, avoiding Arthur’s eyes. _

_ “More like protect you.” _

_ “Regardless of any personal cost to you.” _

_ “I am happy to do it, Arthur, I really…” The sentence ended in a yelp as Arthur grabbed his servant and dragged him closer. He was shaking with anger. _

_ “ _ And you believed them. _ ” _

_ Merlin stared at him with a terrified expression. Arthur’s anger grew, but it stopped burning, becoming ice-cold instead. At least he was now able to think clearly. He let go of Merlin with one hand and used it to gently caress his cheek, then cup his face, steadying him and forcing him to keep looking at him. _

_ “I’m not angry with you, Merlin. I’m angry with  _ them _.” _

_ Merlin tore himself free and quickly put some steps between himself and Arthur. The knife materialized in his hand once more. _

_ “Oh no.” Arthur was almost growling. “ _ Don’t you dare! _ ” _

_ “But you’d be free, Arthur.” _

_ “I don’t  _ want _ to be ‘free’, you idiot! And neither do you, so: Put. That. Away!” _

_ The knife vanished, and Merlin suddenly lost all the tension in his body. He’d probably fallen, had Arthur not quickly breached the distance and caught him. They sank to the ground together, Arthur holding his soulmate close. Merlin clung to him as he was shaking violently. He crawled closer and buried his face in Arthur’s chest. Arthur just held him, he couldn’t say for how long. _

_ “That old man’s spell,” said he finally into Merlin’s hair. “Do you know how to break it?” _

_ “It’s already broken,” muttered Merlin. _

_ “But the other sorcerers aren’t…” _

_ Merlin surged up so fast that Arthur lost his balance for a moment, and run to the abyss, Arthur on his heels. _

_ “They have been pushed out of this world,” explained Merlin, somewhat breathlessly. “Someone needs to pull them back and help them find their place again.” _

_ “What do we do?,” asked Arthur. “Just pull them up?” _

_ They quickly found a rhythm. Arthur pulled the people back up. It was like that one exercise the knights sometimes did, where they had to haul sacks of sand and dirt up to the top of the walls, and carry them to a specific spot. Most of the sorcerers were catatonic, completely unable to assist in their own rescue and barely more than a dead weight. Arthur would pull them up, then lead them a few steps away from the edge. Some smiled sleepily at him, a few mumbled some words of thanks, an older woman patted his head. At that point, Merlin took over, taking each individually by their hand and leading them out on the lake, positioning them on very specific spots he seemed to instinctively know they belonged to. _

_ With each person, Arthur felt as if the world was a little bit more right again. He recognized some of the people from the stories he’d heard. Some others he remembered having met in person at some point or another, if only in passing by. _

_ Gaius, like most of them, looked as if he was sleepwalking. Morgana did not. _

_ “ _ YOU! _ ”, shrieked she the moment she saw Merlin, and proceeded to bury both him and Arthur under insults. It took some time for her to calm down, and even the promise that they would come over and try to talk it out didn’t do much good. When she followed Merlin to her place on the lake, Arthur couldn’t help but to actually worry for a second about what the two sorcerers would do to each other while he wasn’t looking. _

_ Eventually, all the people were back where they belonged. Finally, when there was only the two of them left, Merlin took his wrist and pulled him to a certain place. Standing there felt  _ right _ , and Arthur decided that he didn’t have the energy to wonder why that was. Following his instinct, he reached out and pulled Merlin into his arms, until they were standing even closer than they had in that very first dream. The golden bond between them became more and more intense, until it was a thick rope, wrapping itself around them and binding them both together. _

* * *

When Arthur woke up, it was almost noon. He was lying in his bed, in a cocoon of warm blanket and actual arms holding him. Both he and Merlin had shifted in their sleep and ended up in a loose, comfortable hug. Merlin was stroking his hair with his hand, as if he was trying to wake him gently. Knowing him, he wasn’t. 

“They’re brown again,” murmured Arthur, looking into his friend’s eye.

“I have it under control now,” said Merlin. “Magic is back to normal.”

Arthur sighed and started to free himself from his arms.

“I need to go and check on Morgana and my father. She should be awake by now. I think you’d better stay here for at least the rest of the day, I don’t want anyone to notice that you appeared just when all the people woke up. You can lend him company. Make sure he doesn’t try to leave.” He pointed in the general direction of Lancelot, who was sleeping in front of the now cold fireplace.

He started to get up, but Merlin grabbed his arm.

“Arthur… About Morgana. She… I…”

Arthur freed himself gently from him.

“Not now. We’ll get all together and talk about everything, but not now.”

Now, he first needed to deal with his father, make sure he suspected nothing, and get him to take back over his duties as a King. He had to catch up on any of his usual work that he’d been neglecting this past week. He had a normality to uphold. 

It promised to be a busy day.

**Author's Note:**

> Pfffffffft... I have no idea how long I've been stuck up on this nonsense. First I spent couple of years occasionally daydreaming about this story, then in January 2018 (I think) to write it down and mostly it has just been sitting there and I would sometimes type a little bit. It was nice, but... Look, this has been going on FOR EVER, and now it's finished and I have the feeling that it's crap, but I also know that that is only because by now I am REALLY fed up with this story. 
> 
> Don't spent almost three years writing a fanfiction, is what I'm saying. Learn from my mistakes.


End file.
